


maybe I won't die alone

by onyourleft084



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alagaesia, Arya is a boss, Atonement - Freeform, Dark Magic, Eldunarí, F/M, Firnen is bisexual, GAY DRAGONS, INCREDIBLY SLOW BURN, Legacies, Murtagh gets a fan club, Pining, Post-Inheritance, Romance, Shades, Slow Build, The Inheritance Cycle, This got way out of hand from what I originally planned, Thorn is an awesome wingman, character redemption arc, next generation dragon Riders, politics and action, probably not canon-compliant, resolution of issues, whatever happened to the red Rider, who let Murtagh supervise the children?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/onyourleft084
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>' "And what wisdom can I impart them? How to hurt, how to ruin, how to break others? I'm not good for anything except that."</p><p>"They will learn from you that one's choices, not their past, will always define who they are," Arya states. "In time you will forge a new name for yourself, of that I am certain, and it will be this name that the world shall remember you by." '</p><p>Fate, or rather a determined Elf Queen, extends a hand to Murtagh and Thorn and offers them a chance for redemption. Here's how it works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. whatever happened to the red Rider?- dragons return to Alagaesia- Arya goes chasing shadows- fate has a sense of irony- oh the times they are changin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teavious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teavious/gifts).



> Gifted to fellow Team Red Rider teavious for their fic 'shadow of a shadow' which inspired some aspects of this fic, but mostly had similarities that ran into what I was planning. Their story is great and you should check it out :)

_**I. Oh you tell me to hold on, you tell me to hold on/but innocence is gone, and what was right is wrong** _

There is only one question that follows the stories told in the aftermath of Galbatorix's defeat.

What became of the red dragon and his Rider?

The Blue one, the female, the first in a hundred years, had left Alagaesia for good.

The Green one resides peacefully in the kingdom of the elves. Look up to the skies above Ilirea sometimes and perhaps you will catch a glimpse of him.

The Gold one was long dead, and the Black one had become even less than ash in the explosion that rocked the capital.

But the Red one?

He disappeared, they say, into the North after the king's death. He and his Rider have not been seen since then.

With a loose end such as this, people don't know what to think. Good riddance, some say. Others are a little more curious. Most are still afraid.

Five years pass, and eventually, dragons begin to come back to Alagaesia. They arrive on boats from the East, bringing a new generation of Riders with them. But they are not the only ones to return.

There have been sightings. Whispers. Rumors.

The red Rider, they say, the red Rider is back.

~

These are not the only whispers flying about the land. Alagaesia has a Queen now, and the possibilities for her future are cause for much intrigue.

Men of noble birth come far and wide to try their hand at winning Nasuada's, but through it all she remains steadfast, unbowing to their advances and affections.

"What are you dallying about for?" King Orrin says to her, at a ball held by the Varden's council in the hopes that she would meet someone. "Go pick one already! You already know most of their names and stories by heart."

Nasuada only smiles.

Deep inside she's breaking.

It is hard. Unfair, even. A part of her knows Murtagh is staying away so that she might find happiness in her own time. Yet another part of her feels always drawn to him, wherever he is.

Orrin studies her thoughtfully. "There's someone."

"Yes."

"Someone you can't have."

"Unfortunately, not."

"Anyone I know?"

Nasuada lifts her head. "I assume so, but I doubt that you would approve."

In her solar that night she contemplates her reason for holding out and concludes that she is being silly. There had been no way of knowing that whatever it was between her and Murtagh was really love.

Of course, that's what makes it sad, isn't it? The fact that they never got to find out.

~

More than a hundred years ago a boy too powerful for his own good lost a part of him that no one should ever lose, and it drove him mad.

Mad enough to destroy those he felt responsible.

The first man to join his bloody cause went down in history as a traitor, a murderer, a monster, and he left behind a legacy of pain and misery.

Oh, and a son. Let's not forget that, that's very important.

That son now flies several hundred feet above cloud cover on a dragon the color of a burning sunset.

 _We are no longer alone, Thorn,_ says Murtagh.

_We will always be alone._

_That's true. But Alagaesia's got dragons again, after a hundred years. What my father unmade has been made new again._

_And what does that mean for us?_

Murtagh goes quiet. What does it mean? What can it mean?

 _You know we cannot be part of them._ There is longing in the dragon's thoughts. Murtagh can sense it, yearning and apprehension in Thorn's heart of hearts.

 _\- No,_ says Murtagh. _We cannot._

 

* * *

 

_**II. I'm a ghost, haunting these halls/and I'm lost, I'm broken down the middle of my heart** _

On their triumphant return to Alagaesia as fully-fledged Riders, the new order gets settled into their new, old home under the guidance of Queen Arya and her dragon, Firnen. To welcome them a celebration occurs in Ilirea, with every Royal and noble in the land attending.

Queen Nasuada is standing at the edge of the festivities, close to a line of trees and far enough away from the crowd in the courtyard, when a purple flower floats out the shadows in lazy cartwheels toward her. It tucks itself into her ear, and in the corner of her eye she catches a flicker of movement.

She sees him then, faintly. He is hooded and cloaked, but just enough moonlight is cast on him to light up his eyes.

"Murtagh?" The name tumbles from her lips suddenly.

The answer comes low and soft. "It's me."

"You're here," she breathes. "After five years, you--" She dares to take a step toward him, but Murtagh recoils. He feels like curling away, like a fern leaf in the rain, retreating deeper into the shadows where she cannot reach him.

"Murtagh," she implores, but he cuts her off before she can begin to draw him out.

"I only wanted to say," he says softly, "that you are still as beautiful as when I last saw you. And I should have said goodbye, but I could not. I was a coward."

She shakes her head, "You disappeared and I worried for you."

"You no longer have to. Me and Thorn, we're both all right. Well, we will be."

She nods, understanding. It's enough for him.

A cheer goes up amongst the throng of partygoers. "A toast! To the new order of Shur'tugal!"

"You should join them," whispers Murtagh.

"You are a dragon Rider too. Come with me."

He shakes his head. "No. Not yet."

When she looks up, he has vanished.

Of course he has.

~

Arya notices the purple flower tucked in Nasuada's hair.

She also looks like she's seen a ghost.

~

The Riders establish a base in Du Weldenvarden, and from there they take off, exploring the mighty forest from end to end. But they don't go unsupervised.

Sofia Merasdaughter, blonde-haired, human, twenty years of age and Rider to a supple green male dragon, feels eyes on her squadron as they explore the crags of Tel'naeir. She cannot place the feeling at first, but it's there, hovering; someone is watching them.

The shadows yield no answers, and when she reaches out with her thoughts there is nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

A stranger's consciousness only barely slips out of reach of hers.

~

She's not the only one. Others feel it too. They sense presences in the places where most Elvesdo not go, wild parts of the forest unsafe but to dragon Riders.

"They're not hostile, I know for sure," Edvard Noahsson (black-haired, human, seventeen years of age and Rider to a black female dragon) insists. "They're just...watching."

"They might even be only watching out for us," reasons another. She is Koura, an Urgal, seventeen like Edvard and Rider to a yellow male dragon.

"It's definitely a Rider and his dragon, for sure." Dalan, silver-haired, Elf, fifty years of age (very young for his race) and Rider to a white male dragon.

"Then who else can it be?" It is Sofia who speaks. She recalls the stories she was told as a girl, the war that raged on when she was but a child. "It's obviously him. Murtagh Morzansson."

"Murtagh Kingkiller," hisses Bronür Varikson, brown-haired, Dwarf, nineteen years of age and Rider to a diminutive blue female dragon. "Never forget that."

"Murtagh, Eragon's half brother," Sofia responds. "Don't forget that, either. And do not forget what he said: if we were to find him--"

"-- then he may be able to help us," finishes Edvard. "Well, can he? Will he?"

"And can we trust him?" demands Koura.

Word of it, of being watched and followed by the enigmatic duo, reaches Arya.

She draws her lips together tight. Of course this would happen.

 

* * *

_**III. What do I stand for?/most nights I don't know anymore**_

It would be the mark of a poor Queen if she did not detect uninvited visitors to her realm, so when Arya Dröttning gets a lock on two presences close to the edge of Du Weldenvarden she cancels the day's duties and goes hunting instead.

She and Firnen fly along the outskirts of the great forest, following the faint trace of a familiar consciousness until at last, they catch up with them.

Thorn stirs, wary. _\- We have company._

When Arya makes it clear they mean them no harm, only then do Murtagh and Thorn lower their guard. Well, slightly.

"Murtagh," is the first thing she says.

Green dragon and red dragon eye each other with apprehension.

"What do you want?" he replies, voice hard.

Arya's chin remains lifted and proud, clearly the dominant in the conversation, "I want nothing. Only to see you, and for us to talk. Did you think you could remain unnoticed for long?"

"So somebody did see us."

"There has been talk of two mysterious watchers following the Riders' movements. They can feel you, but you remain an enigma."

"Good," Murtagh huffs, "We're going to stay that way."

Arya's slanted brows furrow. "It has been five years. Why are you still here, Murtagh? Why do you linger on the fringes of the world?"

"We don't belong anywhere else."

"But you have found peace in those years, I hope."

Murtagh frowns and softens a little. "Thorn and I are...we no longer bear hatred toward those who have wronged us. They're dead and gone and we have grown and changed." He glances at his dragon. "But being among the living is what's hard, especially when they don't trust us. We've nothing to offer this world anymore."

Arya tilts her head. "Five years ago the first of these young Riders left Alagaesia. Now they have returned, training nearly complete save for their assimilation back into this realm. But I have realized that I cannot do this alone. I must not do this alone, not when there's another Rider in Alagaesia." She meets his gaze. "I want your help, Murtagh. Help me guide these young ones as they start fresh here."

Her words hang in the air like a sunspot, a fragile thing too hard to look at. Murtagh and Thorn exchange glances.

It is Thorn who speaks up. _\- Trust me, Arya Dröttning, this will not go over well. Some of those young ones lived through the times of the Empire; they remember. They will not trust us._

"No?"

_\- No. We bring too much of the pain of the past with us._

"You have trouble with the past?" Arya says flatly. "Then come help build the future. You cannot undo what you've done, but perhaps you can begin to atone for it by doing this, by nurturing what your father destroyed."

Arya's assured air bothers Murtagh. He hates that she seems so sure.

"Did Eragon put you up to this?"

"He has told the young Riders that should they need help, they might ask you."

"Shit," mutters Murtagh. _Brother,_ _what are you thinking?_

"But I heard you hovering about and sought you out. The world order has begun anew, and Firnen and I feel that the remaining Riders must stick together."

Murtagh regards her wryly. "You need a hand with the new Riders."

"They," Arya says deliberately, "need more than one teacher. More than one approach to what it means to take up this legacy. If you travel Alagaesia without a purpose, then you will find it here, with redemption as well."

"And what wisdom can I impart them? How to hurt, how to ruin, how to break others? I'm not good for anything except that."

"They will learn from you that one's choices, not their past, will always define who they are," Arya states. "In time you will forge a new name for yourself, of that I am certain, and it will be this name that the world shall remember you by."

Again Murtagh and Thorn exchange glances.

"We will think about it," Murtagh says.

Arya nods. "You know where to find me."

She jumps onto Firnen's back and soon, they are gone.

Thorn growls again, sliding his head under his Rider's arm.

_I don't like him._

_Who, Firnen?_

_Aye._ He pauses. _He's too happy._

~

_So what do you think?_

_You know what I think; you're in my head all the time._

Murtagh puts a hand on Thorn's shoulder. _\- That I do. I know what you feel as well. You crave the company of your own kind._

_Yes. But I'm wary, too. Like you told Arya, nobody will trust us._

_She does._

Silence.

Then Murtagh says, _\- I think it's time, Thorn. Don't you?_

His dragon rumbles. _\- Despite the aloofness you showed Arya, you're ready to get back out there, Murtagh, and so am I. The question is, is the rest of the world ready for us, after what we've done?_

_We'll do it. No matter the cost._

_Do you think we can?_

_We have failed doing worse things,_ shrugs Murtagh. _Perhaps we will succeed in doing the right thing for once._

~

They meet Arya and Firnen at the edge of the forest on a full-moon night. This time it is Murtagh who speaks first.

"Arya. We're in."

She merely nods once. "I appreciate that you made the decision."

"I did it for Thorn," Murtagh plows on. "He's got to be with other dragons. He wanted to be. We're both willing to work out what it means to be amongst our kind again."

"That's a start, Argetlam," murmurs Arya, and Firnen hums in affirmation.

Murtagh isn't done. "But the moment I screw up-- and I'm certain I will--"

"Why must you men be so dramatic?" Arya sighs.

"-- the minute you see even the slightest hint of my father in me, I want you to kill me. Kill both of us."

"Nobody is killing anybody in my kingdom. Have a little faith in yourself," Arya says, somewhat sharply. "Now, we have tarried long enough. Let us go. It would be best for you not to overtake us so as not to arouse panic as we approach."

They mount their dragons side by side.

~

Fate, it seems, has some sense of irony, because when he first meets the entire number of dragon Riders they assemble in the forest in a perfect ring of thirteen. Thirteen, like the Forsworn.

The parallel makes Murtagh's head almost hurt.

He expects to be met with distrust, apprehension, even outright hostility. In fact, he's anticipating it. But one thing he forgets is that they were once Eragon's students, and if anyone besides Arya believes that there is hope for him yet, it's Eragon.

There is wariness in their eyes, to be sure, but they greet him in the Ancient Language and regard him with a mixture of respect and reservation.

"Your suspicions were true, young Riders. The watchers looking after you are indeed Murtagh Morzansson and his dragon, Thorn. I have asked them to join our ranks they have agreed to help you finish your training," says Arya. She has them listening to her rapt and devoted, clearly the figure in charge. "From today onward you will respect them as you do myself and Firnen and you will refer to them as Master. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ebrithil," comes the chorus of voices.

It sends a chill up Murtagh's spine. They call him Master.

That doesn't sound right at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been an Inheritance Cycle fan since I was 11 years old (so, for like 9 years) and recently returned to the fandom (thanks to news that Paolini would be writing yet another book set in Alagaesia.) And having a soft spot for everyone's problematic fave Murtagh, I decided to write a fic expanding his story arc. Originally intended as a MxN fic that spiraled out of control, OCs and all.
> 
> Part 1 title from Bleeding Out- Imagine Dragons  
> Part 2 title from Ghost- Ingrid Michaelson  
> Part 3 title from Some Nights- Fun.


	2. And thus it begins- Thorn might have a favorite color- 'prove them all damn wrong'- life hack: changing your true name- who let Murtagh supervise the children?

_**I. And just one mistake is all it will take/we'll go down in history, remember me for centuries** _

It must be the intimidating figure Murtagh strikes, or that for all the good they've heard he's done, these Riders still recall how in their childhood he was spoken of as a villain, a monster. They don't ask about those days in his past, but he sees they want to. They start out skittish and wary around him at first, unsure what they would like to believe, but Murtagh sets his teeth and does his job, and when he speaks, at least they listen.

In five years of traveling there isn't a place in Alagaesia that he and Thorn don't know, and soon he takes them there in small groups, showing every mile of this beautiful, resilient land to its newly-returned inhabitants, and each one has its resources to offer the young Riders. They mark potential strategic territory, places to make new camps should their ranks expand, areas to explore or defend from natural disaster.

This, Murtagh realizes as he watches them gather around a campfire and laughing beneath the starlight, is what he can offer. A world worth loving and defending. Under his guidance, the Riders come to love their new, old home enough to protect it.

The view from where they've camped, at the edge of the Hadarac Desert, is spectacular.

He thinks Nasuada would love it.

~

After months of quiet, the rumors start up again. The red Rider, they say, the red Rider is back, and he has joined the others. It's clear he no longer wants to stay apart.

Nasuada sits at the head of the council table quietly, waiting for the hubbub to die down, but she cannot help but hear. To her face they refer to him as Eragon's half-brother, as the man who rescued her; but she also hears him spoken of with distrust and suspicion. After all, who knows what his true motives were?

All she thinks is: _Prove them wrong, Murtagh. I have faith in you, so prove them all damn wrong._

~

"So, I take it tomorrow's flight is cancelled then?"

The blizzard howls around the cave like a monster untamed, and it draws the five young Riders and their dragons together in a knot around a crackling fire. Murtagh and Thorn stand at the side of the cave mouth, ever watchful. "Unless you think you can navigate these terrible conditions safely, Dalan, then yes. We're stuck here until the blizzard lets up."

"This is crazy, man," Edvard says. "The weather was never like this on the Dragon Islands."

"You'd better get used to it, Noahsson. Alagaesia's got it all-- snow, hail, wind, sandstorms, rain, thunder and lightning and the occasional aurora." Murtagh reaches a hand out, making sure the magical seal he's placed over the cave mouth to keep the blizzard out is still holding. "You're a long way from your training grounds."

"Auroras, you said?" says Koura. "Where?"

 _Not far from here, answers_ Thorn. _They occur in the thin air above the highest mountains of the Beor._

"Will you show them to us?"

She is bright eyed, in spite of her age and her coarse (by human standards) Urgal features, and Murtagh has come to discover that the beautiful things of this fascinating new world are precious even to her, whose race has long been credited with violence and destruction.

He manages a smile. "I could, yes."

"That would be nice," says Sofia. She has a light, practical air about things, the natural leader of this squadron. "But first we must wait out this blizzard."

"Aye."

Silence.

Edvard, ever the mercurial one, stirs restlessly. "I am bored as all fuck."

"Then I propose a round of storytelling," says Dalan swiftly, and Koura visibly groans.

"Dalan, we always do this! So much so we're all out of the good ones."

"Eragon always had good ones," muses Edvard, knees drawn up to his chin. "Remember?"

"Aye, the best ones."

"I bet Master's got some good ones too," says Sofia, without looking at Murtagh.

He instantly feels the other four pairs of eyes (eight, if you count their dragons) turn to him interestedly.

Murtagh shifts. "No, I'm afraid not, young ones."

"But you shared some of those adventures with Eragon," points out Edvard.

"I was mostly on the opposite side, remember?" Murtagh responds dryly. "Anyway, the ones I know...they are not good stories to come back to. The past's in the past."

"We heard," Dalan says, "that you saved Queen Nasuada when Galbatorix captured her."

Murtagh frowns. "I hope Eragon deigned to mention that it was I who was ordered to capture her in the first place. What I did to help her after was all I could do. It was barely heroic."

"Eragon spoke of it as such."

This time Murtagh smiles, "Eragon always did insist on seeing the best in people. Especially me."

He pauses. Thorn nudges against his mind gently, _\- They want to hear of it, Murtagh. Perhaps they'll learn something from it._

Murtagh joins the circle, folding his legs. "All right, I bet Eragon never told you that I could have indeed been a hero and saved the Queen, but he messed up my plan."

"Oh, now this we haven't heard," Bronür says interestedly. "So, uh, what happened?"

~

He tells them. For this first time in five years, someone else besides Thorn knows Murtagh's side of the story. For the first time, Murtagh peels back the dark veneer of his past and focuses on the small triumphs he didn't know he'd achieved.

They listen captivated. When he finishes, there's a question, as he expected.

"You resisted Galbatorix?" asks Sofia keenly.

"Aye. It was difficult at first, but--"

"But he knew your true name. He could make you do anything."

"Aye, he did. And he made me do the worst things-- things I only came to regret after." He glances at Bronür, and knows the Dwarf is thinking of King Hrothgar.

"So how did you shake it?"

"That's simple." Murtagh pauses. "I changed my true name. Or rather, it just changed as I did, when I decided to-- to help Nasuada rather than harm her." And to never hurt her again. "It changed everything."

The Riders look at each other in awe.

Murtagh grins. "I believe I've found a slight overlook in Eragon's training at last. He never told you about using the power of true names, though he drew on it constantly to defeat Galbatorix?" He sits up straighter. "Your true name is the essence of who or what you are. You must allow yourself to change and grow to be free of that which has power over you. When you change, your name changes, and your fate with it."

The silence that falls is less awkward, and more like the young ones are soaking up his advice. He's never put his new philosophy into words before, but now that there are ears to hear them it somehow validates it, making it worth something.

Murtagh feels approval wafting in from Thorn's connection, and he smiles, segueing toward another topic to lighten the mood.

"And speaking of names, I'm told you haven't chosen a squadron title yet."

"We're trapped in here, so how about the Cavewalker Squadron?" says Edvard.

"Or Blizzard Squadron," jokes Dalan. "Or maybe Stuck On The Ground Till Dawn Squadron."

Murtagh shakes his head with a chuckle, "Try again, I think."

 

* * *

 

_**II. Well I didn't know me like I know me now/sometimes you gotta get lost so you can be found** _

It's funny what being trapped in a blizzard does to people, because after that, the Riders start to see Murtagh in a different light.

To them, he's no longer merely Murtagh Morzansson, or Murtagh Kingkiller.

This time, when they call him Ebrithil, it seems right. To all of them.

And so, Murtagh Ebrithil he becomes.  
~

"I notice that Sofia's squadron has taken a liking to you particularly. They admire you, Murtagh."

"I cannot help but think that the only reason they're willing to learn from me is because Eragon said I could be trusted," he admits.

Arya's reply is simple and straightforward. "Of course it was. But you have proved it to them."

"It's ironic."

"What is?"

"All this. Morzan destroys the Riders...his son helps them begin anew. Irony."

Arya quirks a small, wry smile at him. "Destiny." She gathers a stack of parchments together carefully. "Although I daresay you still have a long way to go when it comes to redeeming yourself to the rest of Alagaesia. Either you are a ghost, a myth or still Galbatorix's right-hand man, and not everyone sees that your role in this world is different now."

"I warned you," Murtagh shrugs. "I told you it would be hard for people to forget."

"And the past cannot be forgotten," she replies, "but changes can be made in the present to atone for it. I have been thinking."

"Of what?"

Arya puts the papers down so she can focus better on Murtagh. "Calling an assembly. A meeting of Alagaesia's rulers. I intend to have them pardon you for your actions in the war."

He has to remind himself that she is a Queen and used to getting what she wants, yet she cannot possibly think it will work. Murtagh shakes his head. "Arya. What would you achieve by that?"

"You would be able to go and do as you wish, without fear of hostility or animosity. You and Thorn would never need to hide again." Arya makes it sound so simple, so selfless. "And you would be legally recognized as one of us."

"You can't force them."

"Then perhaps your value to us as Rider will convince them." Arya pauses. "Nasuada would agree."

Murtagh places a hand on her shoulder gently. "I appreciate that you have thought of this, but it's really not necessary."

"You can't live in hiding forever, Murtagh."

"And I am not hiding. I'm just...keeping my distance. Sticking to the ones who trust me."

"Not good enough. You are doing the right thing now and people need to see you've changed."

He meets her gaze, "You really think I have changed?"

"You," Arya says, "are nigh unrecognizable. Where one might have once called you broken, I see nothing but a whole man before me. Some cracks here and there, some uncertainties, yes. But all in all, you have indeed changed, Murtagh." She pauses.

"But?" he asks.

Her reply is curt. "I suppose, if anything, you could use a haircut."

~

The thing about dragons bonded to Riders is that, over time, the emotions of one tend to blur into the other, influencing every thought thereafter.

Thorn sees this theory in action when, as days pass by and Arya and Murtagh's bond of trust grows, so does his with Firnen.

Firnen is still a young dragon, his mind full of light and happiness, cheerful humility and somewhat naive eagerness. Quite a far cry from Arya's experienced, roughened and practical view of the world, and certainly different from Thorn and Murtagh's personal experiences of pain and hostility.

Thorn thinks, give it a few hundred years and a few million losses, and some of that brightness in Firnen might just dim a little. Isn't that what life does to us all?

But the more he spends time with the green dragon, the more he is convinced that Firnen is the one light that will never go out. And in some ways it's kind of annoying, his constant state of cheerfulness and serenity, but in others it is refreshing, even soothing.

 _It is good, is it not?_ Firnen rumbles in that deep voice of his, as they watch the younger dragons washing off in a river, _to be amongst our own kind. I was very lonely for a time before you, and they, came. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Saphira, to be thought the last free dragon for so long._

 _I was lonely too,_ Thorn murmurs. _But we came here to be with dragons and Riders like us._

_And how do you find it? Is it everything you expected?_

Thorn swings his head to face him, _\- It is far better than anything we expected. I feel good here._

_That's good, then._

_Tell me,_ Thorn decides to venture, _do you miss her? Saphira? I am told you have a...history together._

Firnen makes a rasping, genuinely amused chuckle. _\- Yes, I do miss her from time to time. I think of her often. I hear her voice when these young dragons tell me of her. I am glad that she is happy where she is._ He pauses. _They tell me she thinks of me, but one thing we do agree on: if we cannot be together, it would be best for us to find happiness with others, if we can._

Thorn says nothing. The way Firnen talks about it sounds so self-assured, while he has grown to believe that complete happiness would always be nothing more than a fantasy to him. But this, being amongst free dragons and their brave Riders, seems close enough.

Firnen regards him with concern. His eyes are golden, like drops of afternoon sunlight.

Thorn is thinking he might have a favorite color now.

 

* * *

 

_**III. Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you/there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do** _

He'd never promised the youngsters he would show them the auroras, but he keeps his word anyway. The next time Murtagh brings Sofia's squadron out on patrol he makes sure it's going to be a clear night, and proposes a detour on the way home that leads them higher and higher above the mountains than they've gone before. When night falls, the colors break across the sky.

The Riders are exhilarated.

"Beautiful!" exclaims Edvard, as the dragons take off looping and spiraling between the pulsing shades of light. "Extraordinary!"

Somewhere below him, Murtagh hears Dalan break into joyful song.

~

It's an almost perfect moment. Almost.

Murtagh senses the danger first, sharp and dark and foreboding under the euphoria, but he is still too late to act, and Dalan's song turns into a shrill scream. Their attackers come in from all sides, flapping wings and screeching cries.

"What are those things?" Murtagh hears Koura cry.

"Fanghur!" He manages to cry out, and instantly hears all their dragons' thoughts go oh, so those are Fanghur. Then they snap quickly into attack mode, the tactics taught to them by Thorn and Firnen taking precedence.

But the Fanghur are wild things, and they attack without strategy, only pure animosity, scattering the dragons in chaos.

 _I'm an idiot,_ Murtagh growls to Thorn, as he draws Zar'roc and slashes half-blindly at a swoop of ugly scaled wings. The Fanghur rule the nights in these mountains, and of course they would attack such alien and threatening newcomers to their territory. _The Riders have never been this far into the Beor before._

 _And the dragons have been gone so long that things like these have replaced us on top of the food chain,_ Thorn snarls back. _But I think it is time to set the natural order back to rights._

The sky burns again; this time not with the colors of the aurora but with dragon fire, torching the night and frying the lizards crisp. And Thorn is a comet among them, all snarls and ferocity, instantly taking out one after the other. Murtagh slices one open as it's about to attack Dalan; he knocks one out with a bolt of magic as it tangles with Amihan, Sofia's dragon; he drives one into the savage tail-swing of Koura's dragon Sakor so that it plummets, broken in several places. It's a messy, sloppy counterattack, but what matters is that he saves them.

But in the dragons' absence the Fanghur have bred like flies, and more keep on coming.

"There are so many of them!" shrieks Edvard from somewhere to Murtagh's right.

"Try to make it to a higher altitude!" Murtagh bellows, projecting his words as thoughts as well. "The Fanghur-- are cold-blooded-- they won't survive the heights like dragons do--"

"A little help!" hollers Bronür from above them.

Murtagh sees him-- stabbing wildly from his dragon Yorra's back at two Fanghur who have easily targeted the smallest members of the party. One of them tips Yorra completely over, raking her with its claws. She roars in agony, and as the pain spikes through Bronür as well, he loses his hold.

He slides off her back, saddle and all, the straps shredded by their attackers, and drops like a stone.

Bronür's mind is a cloud of chaos. _This can't be happening what a stupid way to go I knew dwarves should have stayed underground oh gods no I just got here now I'm going to fucking die--_

"Huildr!" shouts Murtagh, and Bronür stops. He hangs in midair for a full second until Murtagh pulls him onto Thorn's back and they arc upward again.

"-- thought Eragon taught you how to handle falling if it ever happened!" Murtagh's saying when the roaring stops in Bronür's ears.

"Yes, Master. I panicked, Master."

 _Bronür!_ calls Yorra anxiously.

"You'd better get back to her," Murtagh says. "We're gonna--"

He doesn't finish his sentence.

A Fanghur swoops into Thorn's flight path, striking the great red dragon's neck. Thorn bellows, spitting fire.

Another descends, claws out, and pries Murtagh off his saddle.

"EBRITHIL!" screams Bronür.

He's caught between two claws, and he loses his grip on Zar'roc-- the sword topples into the darkness, out of reach and leaving Murtagh defenseless-- he feels teeth in his shoulder, in his ribs, and Thorn feels it too and he trumpets his pain and helplessness--

A bolt of silver magic, a shrill animal shriek, and the Fanghur drops him, heavily, onto another dragon saddle.

"Got him!" Murtagh hears Dalan call, a clear voice through the haze of agony he's trapped in. "We have to get out of here-- Anybody got a plan?"

"Aye," calls Sofia, steely-eyed. "How's everyone's wards holding up?"

"We should be able to take a few more hits-- or one big one," Koura says through gritted teeth.

"Good, 'cause I've got a pretty big hit in mind." She forms a globe of crackling green energy around one hand. "On my command, everyone's gonna blast everything they've got at this, all right?" She tosses the globe into the air. "Now!"

Five different types of energy converge in one, culminating in a terrific blast that knocks the Fanghur right out of the air.

Even in his weakened state, Murtagh is dimly aware of what's happened: Sofia has created a magical bomb.

And it worked.

The light is almost blinding, and Sofia is calling out something, but Murtagh cannot hear it. He can only hear Thorn's heart beating arrhythmically next to his, and then everything goes black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from Centuries- Fall Out Boy  
> Part 2 title from Where It All Begins- Hunter Hayes ft. Lady Antebellum  
> Part 3 title from Hey Brother- Avicii


	3. Some scars cannot be healed- it helps to have a Dwarf on your squadron- the council of newbie rulers- Thorn and Murtagh catch a break (finally)- 'dragons are meant to fly in flocks'

**_I. Put to rest what you thought of me/as I clean this slate with the hands of uncertainty_ **

"Gods. Oh gods, he is bleeding so much. Oh gods--"

 _Take heart, young ones,_ Thorn rumbles, though he's trying to be strong for them _. He will survive. I...I am holding him together._

"We need more than magic if we're going to save him," Dalan insists, as they strap their unconscious teacher to his dragon's back. "We need somewhere he can recover and somewhere we can stay safe--"

"I know a place," Bronür puts in quickly. "He's not gonna like it, but it's our only choice."

~

When the guards of Tronjheim see what the Riders have brought them, they become as stubborn as Dwarves can be.

"You have brought with you a traitor and a murderer. Our healers will not touch him."

Thorn growls. Koura makes a sound of outrage.

"Then don't," says Sofia, trying to keep her head up. "But at least give us a place where he can rest, and whatever medicine you have, and we'll handle the healing."

Bronür raises his hands as if to calm the guards. "You can take my word for it, kinsmen. Go to your place of healing and search for Andarra Gundasdaughter. She is the head matriarch still, is she not?"

"She is. Why?"

"She's my aunt," Bronür says, "and if you were to tell her that you denied her favorite nephew and his friends the help they needed, what would you imagine she would say? I recall her having quite the temper."

They glower and they glare but they step aside, and the dragon Riders enter.

"Favorite nephew, huh?" says Dalan breathlessly as they straggle down the passageway, followed by their dragons.

"Aye. I'm her only nephew."

~

He's bleeding all over the place and the injuries are severe, and though they too are damaged and bloody and exhausted, they put him first.

The Riders link hands, sharing the last of their energy, and Dalan channels it through the silver mark on his hand, passing it over Murtagh's body and putting him back together as best they can.

Scars are left, though not as noticeable as the one that streaks stark across his muscled back.

"I think that's a very old one," Koura says softly, after Dalan tries, "and we cannot make it go away."

~

Thorn's thoughts brush against Murtagh's the moment he slips back into consciousness.

 _Oh, my dear heart, my poor brave one,_ he murmurs softly, sending comfort and affection between their mental link. _You're awake. I was so worried for you._

_Thorn. What happened?_

_The Fanghur nearly tore you into pieces. I got there before it could, but the damage was-- I'm sorry I couldn't protect you--_

_It's all right,_ Murtagh soothes. _The kids, though, are the kids all right?_

_See for yourself._

Murtagh opens his eyes. The surroundings are not familiar, not fit to his size nor indeed, to Sofia, who stands at his bedside arranging pots of medicine. She looks up.

"Ebrithil!"

"Sofia..."

She reaches out and pats his arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Badly. But not too badly," he adds, when Sofia looks worried. "Where are we?"

"Tronjheim, capital of the Dwarves. It was the closest city we could get to."

Dwarves.

Hrothgar's people.

Shit.

Murtagh groans, attempts to sit up. "Sofia...this is literally...the worst possible place you could bring me..."

Her green eyes are steady and confident. "Don't worry, Bronür's got it covered."

~

Bronür has.

"...the Fanghur would have indeed overpowered us, and we'd have never have survived if not for Murtagh and Thorn. I lost hold of my own dragon, Yorra, when the winged lizards attacked her, and plummeted to what seemed like certain death, only to be caught safely by the red Rider himself." The young dwarf looks up at the Dwarven high council. "Ask any Rider here and they will agree with me when I say he is to be trusted; nay, honored even. And certainly Queen Arya herself will vouch for both Rider and dragon. The war's over, many of us are starting anew; and no one is doing his best to do so than Murtagh."

The council murmurs. King Orik says nothing, but looks on at Bronür, and the small smile he gives the Rider reveals that he believes him.

"Tell us honestly, boy," says one, "did he send you to convince us?"

Bronür grins. "He's been unconscious for five hours. This is me talking." He makes a sweeping bow. "Thus, from dwarf to dwarf, I humbly ask your council: will you pardon our master for his past crimes?"

~

"They're stubborn!" Bronur exclaims. "It's unbelievable. Am I ever that stubborn?"

Arya remains serious from beyond the surface of the scrying glass. "Bronur, these men don't know Murtagh like you and your friends do. They will need more solid convincing apart from your word."

He shakes his head, "they've given us a place to stay and somewhere Ebrithil can recover, but it's causing a stir, to say the least. I had to exploit the 'my aunt works at the infirmary' card just to get in. We have to struggle our way through crowds outside the healing chambers if we want to visit him. They gather at the doors and call and jeer for him to be thrown out or put to death. Word is spreading-- we hear other cities are outraged that the Dwarves would harbour such a man-- I'm scared somebody's going to break in and try to hurt him--"

Arya holds a hand up to quiet the Dwarf. "Bronür, don't worry. I'm coming over."

"You are?"

"Aye. It is time to fix this."

* * *

 

**_II. Do you wake up on your own, and wonder where you are/and live with all your faults?_ **

Andarra Gundasdaughter is less than pleased that the infirmary is housing the dwarves' foremost public enemy, but she has not seen her nephew in five years, much less the pleading in his eyes when he begs her to let them stay, so she digresses. The infirmary rules that no more than two visitors may enter a room at a time, but the young ones persist, and again Andarra digresses (grudgingly), allowing all five of them into the ward at once.

The entire squadron huddles around Murtagh, enveloping him in a group hug, and he pulls them all close in relief.

"Thank you," he says softly. "Thank you. I am so proud of all of you."

It is late evening when Arya arrives. Murtagh senses her before he sees her, but when she finally shows up in his room she embraces him like a brother.

"I am so glad you're safe."

"Arya?" Murtagh mumbles into her hair. "It's good to see you too, but...what are you doing here?"

"I am going to make things right." She pulls back to look him in the eye. "I have called a council, like I said I would. And I am going to convince them you deserve to be free."

There's a sinking feeling in his gut. "Do we-- do we have to? Can't we just go home?"

"It's too late for that," Bronür says from behind the Queen. "People know you're here. They want the rulers of Alagaesia to do something, anything, about that."

"And I intend to make sure that 'something' is a good thing," Arya insists.

Murtagh fidgets. "What can I do?"

"Sit still, gather your strength," Arya says, "and let the politicians handle it."

~

The next two days go by rather quickly, and although the young ones do their best to keep Murtagh in high spirits, he cannot help but sense the emotions seething outside the infirmary. Tronjheim is prickling at him in rage and spite, and he is sure that beyond the walls of his sickroom there are many that want him dead.

He only has Bronür to thank that they've let them stay this long.

"King Orrin and Queen Nasuada are on their way," Arya informs Murtagh on her next visit to his ward.

Nasuada. After all these years, Murtagh is unsure of how he will be if, when, he finally faces her. Especially under such circumstances.

"So, if we don't get a pardon like you wanted," he says quietly, "what's the worst that can happen? You kill me?"

"The death sentence died along with Galbatorix," Arya says curtly. "Nasuada doesn't work that way. No, I suppose the worst would be either life imprisonment-- unlikely, given that you are bonded to a dragon-- or continued exile."

Murtagh frowns. "Then I would never see the students again?"

Arya puts a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to work it out. Trust me."

"Maybe," he says slowly, "it's for the best. Maybe Thorn and I should just go."

She tsks impatiently. "Not an option. You have come this far, Murtagh. I will not let that go to waste, not after these young Riders put their faith in you."

"Arya, at this point in time they are only a minority of a whole world I helped nearly destroy," argues Murtagh. "Influential and powerful as the Riders may be, there are still more people whose minds they cannot change, starting with the Dwarves." He pauses. "How can I begin to atone for this?"

"We'll find a way."

~

Unexpectedly, Murtagh does.

Some of the rumors that find their way into his Ward, carried in by the young Riders, include news of how the Dwarves have begun to rebuild in the advent of a new age. They're repairing damages, constructing new homes, erecting monuments, taking back what is theirs.

He hears the name from Bronür first: Orthiad.

The Empire took over the ancient Dwarf city, making it their own, and used it as a base when they attacked the Varden in the mountains. It was cursed, they said, full of the reeking energy of dark magic and Shade's enchantments, and even after the King's death some of it had stayed, hanging like a shroud over the place even when it was abandoned.

Dwarf spellcasters had been trying for two years now to get past it, and only received a poisonous plague for their troubles. Attempts to reclaim the city had been put on indefinite hold while their mages researched a way to overcome it.

 _We could fix that_ , Thorn murmurs like a guardian angel in the back of Murtagh's head.

* * *

 

  
**_III. Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell/where can you run to escape from yourself?_ **

Arya is surprised-- surprised and pleased-- when at last she drags Murtagh in front of the fully-assembled council (including but not limited to King Orrin of Surda, High Queen Nasuada of Alagaesia, King Orik of the Dwarves, and representatives from their respective governments) and he puts himself forward with an apology she never thought he would make.

Not that she ever doubted he was sorry.

"I understand that there are many here who want me dead for what I've done," Murtagh says, and all eyes are on him and Thorn-- riveted, searching, perhaps waiting for a chance to condemn them. "I do not blame them. But in the past two and a half months Thorn and I have spent in Ellesmera with the new Riders, we have...we have found a new sense of purpose. A reason to think that starting over may be worth it for us. So we have decided, that while we can in no way undo the wrongs we have done, we can help rebuild and make things better somehow."

He's glancing toward Arya now, somewhat uncertainly. She only sends the slightest nudge of encouragement down their common empathic link. Murtagh continues. "We have heard that the Dwarves are trying to retake Orthiad, but with no success because of the dark magic that still lingers on it."

"That is true," says Orik.

"Then Thorn and I offer ourselves in service to you." He kneels, and Thorn dips his head low. "We will, if you will let us, expel whatever curse lies over Orthiad, and help your people rebuild and reclaim it."

 _And our service will extend beyond Orthiad,_ Thorn adds, projecting his thoughts across the hall. _Whatever the Dwarves may need from now on in undoing Galbatorix's taint from their lands, we shall ever be at your call. No matter what it is, or how long it takes. This, we feel, is the least we can do._

Now dragon and Rider speak together, "In recompense for the offenses we have made against the race of Dwarves, we pledge our loyalty and power to you and to those striving to build the world anew."

The hall is silent after that.

Thorn twitches his tail, anticipating.

Then Orik says, "This council will convene in private. Please leave us."

~

"It is clear that these young ones look up to him, and care about him with a ferocity that is admirable. I don't know how he did it, but he's got them on his side," Orik's saying. Arya can see that in spite of the hurt he's wrestling with, the difficulty he faces of not making the issue personal, he is impressed with Murtagh's offer-- perhaps even relieved.

"And that's a good thing?" Orrin says.

"Whatever is that supposed to mean?" says Nasuada quietly. It is the first time she has spoken.

Orrin frowns. "He could be using them to his advantage, manipulating them as his father did."

"Trust me," Arya says, her voice clear and strong, "if he had any ill intent, I would have known. And I would have put a stop to it."

"So we can trust him," Nasuada says.

"I have at least five Riders in this city who would defend his honor. So would Eragon, if he were here." She pauses. "So would I." And so would you, Nasuada. Help me out here.

"Yet, Arya, your kind must be raring at him, after what he did to the last Elf Rider," puts in Orik.

"As long as he is willing to repent, my people bear no existing hatred toward Murtagh. We have lost much during the war and an old grudge will only get in the way of rebuilding."

"Rebuild," repeats Nasuada. "Murtagh-- and his dragon-- offered to be there for whoever wanted to rebuild in the aftermath of Galbatorix's defeat. I think that is enough. He started with the Dwarves because he knows he made the greatest offense to them, but in truth, his mission for atonement extends across Alagaesia. As it rightly should."

"I told you," Arya says adamantly. "They truly mean this."

Orrin nods. "Then I say yes. It is certainly better having him with the Riders where one can keep an eye on him, or providing aid to those who still need it, rather than having him and his dragon fly rogue all over Alagaesia without knowing their intent."

"Nasuada?" Orik asks.

The Queen nods as well. "I saw good in him before," is all she says. "This is the right thing to do."

"And we all know what Eragon would think," Orik says quietly.

~

The thundering crescendo of mighty wings and the growing presence of a joyful, sunlit consciousness prelude the arrival of Firnen into the Dragonhold. Thorn looks up from the cave he is sitting in, several rows away from the the other five young ones. Rather than land in the center of the hold, atop the newly-rebuilt Star Sapphire, Firnen lands on the ledge outside Thorn's cave.

He's practically hopping with excitement.

 _They agreed, Thorn,_ he exclaims at once _. The council has decided. They're pardoning you and Murtagh and taking up your offer of service._

Thorn instantly relaxes, his wings dropping in relief. _Oh, that is good._ Instantly the younger dragons perk up, their delight mixing along the edges of Thorn's consciousness. But he's not prepared for the way Firnen bounds up to him and nuzzles him with gusto, the affection rolling off him in waves. Thorn's stunned, but finds that he appreciates it-- and he hopes Firnen can feel it too.

He does.

 _I am so happy for you,_ the green dragon rumbles _. It would have truly been a loss for the Shur'tugal if you had to leave. You are important to all of us._

Thorn dips his head with Firnen pulls away _. - Thank you, Firnen. And thank Arya for us as well. This would not have happened if not for her._ He pauses _. You have always been so kind. I...do not deserve it._

Firnen flicks his tail _. - Nonsense._ He backs out of the cave _, Now, how's hungry? Let us hunt among the mountain ranges! Perhaps we will find one of those huge boars the Dwarves so boast about..._

The young dragons chatter and chime in eagerness and follow Firnen into the open air. Thorn follows, his heart lifting as it never had before.

_We're free._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from What I've Done- Linkin Park  
> Part 2 title from Slide- GooGoo Dolls  
> Part 3 title from Dare You to Move- Switchfoot
> 
> (i promise I'm not all 90s-early 2000s alternative rock music trash)


	4. A blade for a new beginning- 'that was for mine uncle'- clean slates and full plates- dragons make the best wingmen- Orthiad, Reclaimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things happen in this chapter.
> 
> Also, that long-forthcoming MxN moment y'all wanted. More to come ;)

**_I. All caught up in the eye of the storm/and trying to figure out what it's like moving on_ **

Murtagh starts out by agreeing to swear fealty to all of Alagaesia's rulers. He is, Arya informs him, the second Rider in history to make such an official allegiance, the first of course being Eragon when he swore himself to Nasuada all those years ago. Murtagh's time serving Galbatorix doesn't count, because, as Arya states again and again, that was never really Murtagh's choice.

He's beginning to get used to that, the idea of 'who-he-was' being separate from 'who-he-has-become.' It feels like taking off a long, heavy cloak and casting it aside.

And now he truly feels like he's starting over.

The squadron hears the news too, and they're thrilled-- jumping up and down like small children and hugging Murtagh again and again, all formalities thrown aside.

"Wait, so--" Bronür says at last, "if Master's going to stay here and help rebuild Orthiad, and then some, will he not return to Ellesmera?"

"Of course he will," Arya says swiftly. "Murtagh is a dragon Rider first and foremost. He is one of us."

Murtagh smiles, a warm feeling spreading over him. "She's right. I may have pledged myself to Alagaesia's leaders, but my main duty lies with the Riders-- and the responsibility of keeping you kids out of trouble," he adds, and they all grin at him.

It is only after that Murtagh makes amends with Orik personally.

"It will take time," the Dwarf King says, "for all of my kin to trust and forgive you. You have made a great scar upon our history, Argetlam."

"I know," Murtagh mumbles. He cannot even begin to explain how he thought, at the time, he'd been doing the right thing when he slew King Hrothgar, when all the signs pointed to it being very wrong.

Yet Orik-- Orik, Hrothgar's nephew, Orik upon whose shoulders the Dwarf race has been burdened because of his uncle's death, peers at him and understands. "But you came back and you offered to make up for it. Do you know how hard that is? Even for the best of men, the noblest of warriors? When people do the wrong thing they tend to walk on and act like it didn't happen, and that's what gets in the way of change as much as holding on to old grudges does." He reaches up and grabs Murtagh's elbows in a friendly manner-- he can't reach his shoulders, after all. "People wanted you dead, lad, and all you did was offer to help them. You've proved that you have a heart in the right place that not even Galbatorix could get to, and now they will all see it. Your brother would be proud."

Murtagh is stunned. "Thank you."

Orik pats his arm. "We'll make a hero of you yet." He pauses. "Though there is one last thing." He beckons to the much taller man as if to whisper something in his ear, and Murtagh bends.

He doesn't get a whisper. He gets a terrific blow to the face that sends him reeling and seeing stars-- just like the stars floating around the hammer on Orik's clan's crest.

"That," Orik says, rubbing his knuckles, "was for mine uncle. Don't forget it."

"Trust me, my lord," Murtagh says, grimacing, "I never shall."

~

_We found your sword,_ Thorn says when he lands next to Murtagh after his hunting trip with the other dragons. In his jaws he tenderly carries Zar'roc, a little dirty in places, but nonetheless just the same. Murtagh takes it back, thankful.

_Thank you, Thorn. As many horrible memories are associated with this old thing, I'm still going to hang onto it. Besides, if I'm going to swear fealty I'll need a sword to do it with._

_So,_ Thorn rustles his scales. _Fealty, huh? You sure we're not just about to chain ourselves to a commitment we're going to regret? Argetlam, do this, Argetlam, do that, Argetlam, save a cat stuck in a tree--_

Murtagh chuckles. _Come on, Thorn. You know it's not going to be that ridiculous. He pats his dragon on the flank, And since we've pledged ourselves to all races of Alagaesia, we still get to travel. It might even be fun._

_Especially if it means tossing out any remnants of that old coot Galbatorix's rule from this brave new world,_ Thorn remarks with a savage excitement, as if he's already picturing what it's like to topple Imperial buildings with one swoop of his tail.

His Rider tilts his head at him, examining him with an amused grin. _Is it just me, or do you seem happier than usual?_

_What makes you think that?_

_Because I'm always in your head, idiot,_ laughs Murtagh. _You're a brave little dragon, aren't you? Calling Galbatorix an old coot...where have you been, by the way?_

_Hunting Nalgask,_ Thorn says coolly. _Firnen, me and the hatchlings._

_They're barely hatchlings anymore, Thorn._

_They'll always be hatchlings to us._

_Sounds like you had fun._

_Aye._ Thorn even rolls over onto his back like a dog. _We did._

_I thought you said Firnen was 'too happy.'_

_Well, I like that now,_ Thorn says. _We could all use a little happy after all. Now he's acting like a cat, rubbing his head against Murtagh's arm. And you and I have more reason to be happy than we have in a long, long time._

_Yes,_ murmurs Murtagh, leaning his head against the dragon's _. Yes...we do._

 

* * *

_**II. We walked down to the water, arm in am as friends/but when we crossed over we were lovers, swimming in the bitter end** _

The word gets out to other relevant dignitaries in Alagaesia, and another couple of days pass by to make the pardon official. A few more Riders arrive in Tronjheim just for the ocassion.

"I thought you said our pledging ceremony was going to be a low-key affair," Murtagh says, when he sees the impressive clothing they've brought with them from Ellesmera.

"You've an awful lot of politicians to impress, Murtagh," says Arya. "After all this trouble, the least you can do is look good. And in this getup...I'm sure you will."

He can't help but agree with her when he finally puts the clothes on and examines himself in the mirror.

"Told you," Arya says with approval, when he reveals himself.

"Yes, your majesty," Murtagh grins. "You were right." He makes to attach Zar'roc to his belt, only to find Dalan withholding it stubbornly.

"Um, can I have that back?"

"You're not swearing yourself in service to Alagaesia with this," the elf says. "Come on, Ebrithil. You are well aware of its history."

"It killed a Shade," Murtagh says, miffed. "Eragon wielded it before me. I don't see what's so--"

"It just isn't you anymore," Sofia says, condensing matter in her usual practical way. "But this...we like to think this is closer."

From behind her she produces a new sword, tucked into a gleaming scabbard, a glittering red stone set in the hilt.

Murtagh stares. "No...you didn't."

He is astonished at how the handle fits so well in his grasp, the weight balanced perfectly, perfectly, just what he's used to-- but not quite-- this new sword, as he pulls it with a smooth slide from its scabbard revealing its flawless Crimson blade, is longer than Zar'roc or most swords. Indeed, a hand and a half longer.

"Well?" Edvard says anxiously. Murtagh looks up to see the five young Riders, plus the three who had just arrived, peering at him expectantly.

He's breathless. "It's beautiful. How--how did you...?"

An Elf girl named Caelané (strawberry-blonde, seventy-five years of age and Rider to a silver male dragon) beams. "When we found out you were going to be pardoned, we quickly got started on forging you a new sword."

"We used magic to call up the essence of Zar'roc, to get the right weight and everything," puts in Tobias Mandelsson, brunette, human, twenty years of age and Rider to a female purple dragon. "We pestered Rhünon the sword-maker into giving us some tips, but she didn't help make the sword physically-- we did. And we remembered Eragon once told us you used to fight with a hand-and-a-half sword. Got it finished just in time for our trip down here."

"So technically, it's got a little bit of all of us," Caelané says with a small bow. "Now all it needs is a little bit of you, Ebrithil."

"I don't know what to say," Murtagh says softly. "And I don't know how I can thank you. You kids...really are wonderful."

The way their faces light up convince him that his simple thanks is more than enough.

~

The pledging takes place the following day. Murtagh swears himself, his dragon and his new sword to all the rulers of Alagaesia and all the causes of its people, the assembly signs his pardon, and it immediately goes into effect.

And that's that. The council adjourns. A few congratulate him, wish him luck, tell him they believe in him, or perhaps put forth the slightest hint of a threat if he ever steps out of line. Then they go, almost eager to not have to look him in the eye for longer.

The Riders linger to give Murtagh one last group hug before leaving. Arya embraces him, too.

"Thank you," Murtagh mumbles softly when she does. "Arya, I never would have thought it was going to be worth it if not for you."

Her arms tighten around him, "You've done so much and come so far, Murtagh. Of course it is worth it. This is what your brother would have wanted-- and it is certainly as much as you deserve."

When they pull apart they realize there is one other person who has remained in the room besides Thorn. Nasuada, resplendent in a green velvet gown, is waiting.

Arya squeezes Murtagh's arm with a reassuring smile. _I will leave you two alone, then._

She does.

Murtagh faces the Queen and he bows. She smiles at him, and it is so crushingly happy that he nearly falls over when he straightens up again. There is a distance between them, perhaps three yards of an awkward space that Murtagh doesn't know what to fill with. Luckily, 'Awkward' is a concept that Nasuada seems to have no experience of. And rightly so-- she's a Queen now, gracious to the last inch.

"I like what you did with your hair," she remarks.

"Thank you, milady," Murtagh says with a similar attempt at graciousness.

Nasuada folds her hands. "I like what you did with...everything. The young Riders speak of you with respect. Word has already spread across the realm."

"And what kind of word would that be?" She notices his voice is as low and controlled as ever, but it's taken on a gentler tone now. And yet she cannot help but think that it will only take one small thing to break his composure and expose the raw emotion lying beneath the surface.

"That you are on your path to redemption."

This time Murtagh looks up and meets her gaze. "Is that so."

She nods.

Silence, but not a hard or awkward one. Murtagh's face is as soft as she's ever seen it; part of it a result of the peace he has begun to find since joining the Riders, part of it, perhaps, because he is looking at her.

"Hello, Thorn," Nasuada says to the dragon now, inclining her head in respect. "I believe we've never formally met. It is a pleasure to, after all these years."

_Likewise a pleasure, my Queen,_ purrs Thorn kindly.  _You are by far the loveliest and wisest human we have ever encountered. It is no wonder that my Rider has thought about you often._

Murtagh's eyes widen. "Thorn!"

"Truly?" Laughs Nasuada, clearly amused. "Well, I'm...I'm flattered, to say the least. It has been so long." Now the look she gives Murtagh is searching, almost yearning-- almost. But not quite. "And the things we have both faced are not easily forgotten."

"Yes," Murtagh says quietly.

Thorn rasps deep in his throat, _He could never forget you, milady. You were but a bright pillar of hope in a dreary world of--_

"All right, we have to go," Murtagh says at once, eliciting another giggle from Nasuada. It brings a half-grin to his face, and he smacks Thorn in the shoulder, embarrassed. "That's no way to talk to a queen, you naughty dragon. With your leave, your majesty..."

"Yes, if you must," she says with a gracious gesture of release. "Congratulations again, Murtagh."

The smile he gives her next is wider now. "Thank you."

He and Thorn are halfway out of the hall when the wrong feeling suddenly kicks in. Murtagh turns around, faces her again, and faces the past too, before his ten seconds of reckless bravery run out.

"Nasuada."

She turns to face him. "Yes?"

He regards her for a moment before speaking again. "I'm sorry. I know we shouldn't talk of this again, but I have to know." Murtagh pauses, swallowing. "Did-- did you ever hate me? For what I did, what I was forced to do to you?"

The Queen stares. Murtagh plows on. "I wouldn't blame you if you said yes. I would hate myself-- in fact, I still do--"

"Murtagh." She's shaking her head. "Don't do this to yourself, not when you've come so far."

"Well, did you?" He says, voice ragged.

All right, she thinks, if he wants to play it that way.

"Should I?" Nasuada says. "I suppose I should. But I don't. What matters is you saved me. Helped me. Helped all of us-- and here you are, having made a pledge to do nothing but help for the rest of your life." She tries to meet his eyes. "So no, Murtagh. I do not hate you and I never have. How could I?"

He shakes his head. "Granting me pardon is one thing, but between us there's just this...I don't know. I'm surprised you're even still talking to me."

"I am not interested in the past," Nasuada says quietly. "I only care about now. So what I propose is this." She holds her head high. "Can we start over, Murtagh? Can we begin again as friends, and get to know each other for who we become rather than who we were?"

Murtagh looks away from her and says nothing for a while, and Nasuada fears he'll turn away and never speak to her again, but he doesn't.

"Start over, huh?"

"Yes."

He nods, after a small silence. "I can do that, milady."

"Good," she says softly.

"Good," he repeats, and gives her a very small, but no less genuine, smile.

"I will see you, I suppose," Nasuada says. "Good luck, Murtagh."

"Thank you, Nasuada." He bows again, and he and Thorn continue on their way out as Nasuada turns and goes her own way.

Murtagh feels the slight nudge of Thorn's mind against his: _Smooth, Murtagh. Real smooth._

_Shut up._

 

* * *

 

_**III. You were the last of a dying breed/prone to wander but born to lead** _

  
Of all the wonders of Tronjheim, the only thing that really attracts the young Riders is the Dragonhold above it.

The eight of them lie in a circle on their backs atop the Star Rose, heads at the center and feet splaying out like the uneven spokes of a wheel. Above them stretches a grey sky, below them the cool and scintillating surface of Isidar Mithrim.

For the first time, Bronür feels at home again. He closes his eyes, basking in the memory of his mother's smile, his father's exclamation of pride when they reunited.

Dalan brushes his fingers over the plaque commemorating those who constructed the Star Rose. "Saphira," he murmurs, fingertips tracing the name. "She fixed the Star Rose after it was broken."

"It endured," says Bronür, "the way all the best things in this world do."

~

_They were right, says_ Thorn as he sniffs the air. _There is a plague of black magic around here._

_Well, like you said, we can fix that._

The gates of Orthiad lie before them, gaping open like the maw of a giant, ancient creature in agony. Even if the citadel is empty and the path lies clear, the Dwarves who have gone with them do not enter-- the stories of those who went before hold them back.

It's like a choking cloud of misery and dark energies, left stale and stagnant in the Empire's wake, and Murtagh can feel it looming, encroaching on his consciousness. He sets his teeth. The King's magics had overpowered him once before, but not so again.

_You are a dead man, Galbatorix. And now, we're going to wipe away your memory._

"Go and do your thing Shur'tugal," the head Mage of the Dwarves says, half a challenge, half permission to begin.

Murtagh turns to him. "Will you lend your strength to me?"

The mages glance at each other, mutter in their own language, but eventually nod. They create a link of hands, ending with their leader, who puts his hand on Murtagh's hip. Instantly he feels their energy flow into him.

"So, uh, how do you propose to go about this?" The lead Mage asks presently.

"Simple." Murtagh raises his hand; the one that bears the gedwey ignasia. "Say the magic word."

He closes his eyes and mouths the Name of Names.

And the spells that lie over Orthiad come undone.

Every magic user over a fifteen-mile radius feels the effects; a sudden lightening over the city, like sun rays chasing away clouds, like shadows being engulfed by candlelight. The stagnancy disappears. Banners fall, stones crumble, and the fog lifts.

Murtagh glances at Thorn, who nods. Together they take a step through the gates. Then another, then another. The darkness has gone. They can breathe.

"How fares it?" Calls the Dwarf leader.

Murtagh turns to face him. "All clear!"

They follow him through, eagerly, marveling, and for all many of them still distrust and dislike him, they cannot help but cheer.

He feels an approving tap on his arm, "Well done, Argetlam. Now, let's get to work."

Murtagh smiles. "There may still be some minor spells lingering, a few war traps here and there, and undoubtedly the energy has corrupted some of the local fauna into some pretty unsavory creatures, so be on your guard. Thorn will give us aerial support if need be."

"You heard him," calls the lead Mage at Murtagh's elbow. "I'll need spellcasters in groups of five on every corner of the city, searching the place from top to bottom before we know it's safe to call the builders in..."

And once again, Orthiad belongs to the Dwarves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from Waiting for the End- Linkin Park  
> Part 2 title from Bad Dream- Wildlife  
> Part 3 title from Shadow of a Man- Neulore


	5. Riders old and new- homes all over the world- 'do you like me?'- the ladies can't get enough of Murtagh- it's hard to be careful when there's the slightest attraction

**_I. The mountains have no trails, but we are tough as nails/come on this is our land, so get up and grab your walking stick_ **

Three months pass since Thorn and Murtagh are pardoned. Three months are enough for rapid changes to occur in Alagaesia.

One: Orthiad, nearing completion, begins to house free inhabitants once more-- not just Dwarves, but humans as well.

Two: The Riders put up outposts in the biggest cities, and soon all of Alagaesia, not just Du Weldenvarden, becomes the Riders’ home once more.

Three, and possibly the most important: Dragon eggs are transported across Alagaesia in the hope of finding new Riders. In a matter of weeks, they hatch.

It is natural, of course; literally the whole point of taking the eggs back here from the dragon islands, yet Thorn has never seen a baby dragon hatch before, and it just about takes his breath away. He’s lying crouched with his head on his forepaws, watching the wonder unfold before him. This particular egg, a brown one, hatches for a tall Elven girl at the outpost in Silthrim.

_This is extraordinary,_ he thinks to Firnen, who is watching a few feet away from him.

Firnen comes over and nudges Thorn gently with his tail, _It’s everything we dreamed it would be. They’ll join the Riders and sail East to begin their training. They will be grown by the time they get back-- them and all the other little ones hatching across the land._

_I guess our family is getting bigger_. He makes a grin at Firnen, _and we’d better make room._

_There’s plenty of room for dragons here,_ Firnen says in his usual cheerful tone. _Alagaesia is where dragons belong._

_And yet the young ones are raised offshore, in a safer place._

_But the old ones remain here and reclaim this land as our own. Patience, Thorn,_ Firnen rumbles, _in time, we will earn back our place. I believe we already have begun to._

~

"It's ironic," Murtagh says. He leans on the railing of a balcony at the Silthrim outpost, watching the Riders get settled in. It is one of the first respites he and Thorn have taken outside of Orthiad, and this afternoon he's accepted an invitation to have lunch with Arya at the Riders' newest home.

"What is?" Arya asks, seating herself to their meal.

"All this. Morzan destroys the Riders...his son helps them begin anew." Murtagh joins her. "Irony."

Arya quirks a small, wry smile at him. "Destiny." She raises a glass of wine to her lips. "Although I daresay you have taken more effort to be liked than your infamous father."

He flicks his eyes up at her. "Do you like me?"

"I am sharing a private meal with you in one of the most illustrious of Elf cities, having recently lobbied for your official pardon against the crimes you've committed against Alagaesia-- crimes against your will, of course." Arya says bluntly. "What do you think?"

Murtagh grins. "Point taken, your Majesty."

"Just 'Arya' will do," she replies. "We're friends and fellow Riders, Murtagh. I think it is time we dispense with the formalities. Besides, it's not like you're entirely consistent with the titles either."

Murtagh shakes his head, "Friends with the elf-Queen. My old dad must be turning in his grave."

"Friends with the son of the worst traitor in history," Arya deadpans, "I'm surprised my mother hasn't risen from hers."

They watch some of the young Riders who have just moved into the outpost sparring in the courtyard. Arya observes them keenly. Lately she has noticed a similarity, a striking commonality in their individual fighting styles that happens to stand out. She wonders where they picked it up-- certainly, it is different from Eragon's, and she's watched him fight for years.

The answer dawns on her when she watches Caelané finish off sparring against a much taller male Elf, ending with a familiar flourish by spinning her sword at her side.

"Did she get that from you?" She asks Murtagh, turning to him.

Murtagh's just as surprised as she is. "I guess she did."

 

* * *

 

**_II. I said, you're holding back/she said shut up and dance with me_ **

When the next fleet of boats arrive from the East, they bring with them a whole new set of young Riders, and another party happens in Ellesmera to welcome them home. But this time, they're sending off new Riders too, and their baby dragons, to raise them and start training with Eragon. And since the elves are hosting, obviously, the festivities are all-out. Magic lights, potent drinks, all manner of vegan delights, music and merrymaking. At the rate the Riders' ranks have been growing, Murtagh's certain this will turn out to be an annual thing.

And this time, rather than watching from the shadows, Murtagh is part of the festivities-- not front and center, but part of it all the same. And again he sees Nasuada from afar, and she's got a smile as bright as the stars, but it only reaches her eyes when she recognizes Murtagh in the crowd.

He returns the smile. It's not as hard as he thought it would be.

Focusing on anything else in the party that isn't her is the slightly more difficult part. Gods, she is impeccable in that gown, as beautiful as ever. Murtagh is sure he's never been this close to happy.

But their respective circles of acquaintances revolve far away from each other, and while Nasuada is occupied with dignitaries and officials, Murtagh finds himself swept off by the young Riders.

"Ebrithil, you gotta dance!"

"No, Tobias, I don't--"

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"You go right ahead; I'll watch."

"You're no damn fun."

"I am chaperoning you troublemakers," Murtagh says curtly, plucking a goblet from the hand of a clearly intoxicated Dalan. "And that's enough for you, young man."

"I'm like, twenty- five years older than you," Dalan slurs as Koura hauls him to someplace he won't hurt himself. Just when he thinks he's gotten some peace, someone else grabs Murtagh's arm out of nowhere.

“Oh, no,” he says, nearly growling, “I’ve said a million times, I don't da-- Arya!”

The Elf Queen quirks her eyebrows at him. “There is someone who wants to see you, Murtagh.”

“Someone wants to see me?” Murtagh says, confused.

“Yes. Two someones, rather.”

Those two someones are found in a clearing several yards away from the main party, clad in shimmering silver cloaks. Not far away is another knot of merrymakers and their dragons, with an elf musician playing a merry tune on a pipe, but otherwise Murtagh feels alone with the two figures.

“This is he, the red Rider,” Arya says. “Murtagh, these are Iduna and Neya. The Caretakers. The holders of the ancient pact between dragons and elf kind.”

The pair throw back their hoods and reveal themselves to be two stunning, dark-haired Elf women.

“Murtagh Morzansson,” says one. “We have heard much of you.”

They start to circle him carefully, and it is only then that he realises Arya has left.

Murtagh feels like a bug under a microscope, helpless under the intense gaze of the two Caretakers. But they are not scrutinising him to the last detail; they're passing sweeping looks over him, as if trying to capture not just what he looks like to them but everything he carries around with him, the hope and the pain and the fear that nobody else can see.

“We met your father once,” one of them-- Neya? Iduna? He can't tell-- says at last.

Great, my father again, Murtagh thinks.

“You’re not like him,” the other one says, as if she read his thoughts. Maybe she did. That's another thing you can never tell with Elves.

“I hoped not,” Murtagh says quietly, despite himself.

Now he catches the ghost of a smile on both womens’ lips. They continue to circle him, perhaps a little more flirtatiously now.

“You are different from Morzan,” one continues, “is he not, Neya?” (Oh, so that one’s Iduna.)

“Aye.” Neya never takes her eyes off Murtagh. “He has a good heart. He is kind, or at least chooses to be, and he defends, not destroys.”

Murtagh doesn't know what to say. Those were never words he had thought to hear spoken of him.

“We see much darkness in you, but it is not your own,” Iduna adds. “Yet in that darkness, you chose to shine.” She comes to stand next to her twin, right in front of Murtagh.

“You are a worthy dragon Rider, Murtagh Morzansson.” Hands each out and grasp his shoulders as if in blessing. “Know this, and find peace.”

They glide away like the breeze between the trees. Murtagh watches them go for a few seconds, before managing to turn in the direction he came from.

“What was that all about?”

Nasuada has found him. Had she been looking for him? Murtagh looks up to her radiant smile, bright even in the dim light of the forest.

“The Caretakers, your highness,” He says, switching on the courteous mode he’s grown to reserve for the high-ranking folk of Alagaesia he has had to mingle with so much lately. “They wished to see me. It seems that they too are curious as to how a traitor’s son has become so valuable to the Riders.”

“Valuable to all of us,” Nasuada corrects. She tilts her head at him, studying him like the Caretakers did, only she does not seem to pass gazes over him like a judgy horse-buyer but rather, an astronomer trying to make sense of the stars. “Will you walk with me, Murtagh?”

“How can I refuse my lady?” He falls into step with her, matching her pace easily as if he were sparring with one of his many students. They reach the heart of the festivities, where elves, dwarves, humans and Urgals alike dance or talk around a roaring multicoloured bonfire.

The emotions are running high, and Nasuada turns to him.

"Might I be bold enough to ask you for a dance?" She ventures.

He shakes his head with a small smile. "Now that, I must politely decline, my lady. Perhaps a drink will suffice?"

Well, it was worth a shot. "If that is what you wish then, Rider."

Murtagh looks up suddenly.

"Hold that thought."

Nasuada waits, puzzled, as Murtagh slams the side of his fist against the trunk of a strong oak tree nearby. To her surprise, the leaves rustle with movement and emit a sharp cry of surprise.

"What are you doing?" He demands. "Get down from there!"

Three young Riders spill out of the branches, landing on their feet but looking flushed and embarrassed.

"Ebrithil, our apologies--"

"We were just--"

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupts. "Mind your own business, will you?"

Nasuada stifles a giggle, watching them leave while muttering apologies and ducking back into the gathering.

She's still giggling when Murtagh turns to her.

"Sorry about that," he says. "Um. Drinks?"

~

Edvard nudges Sofia, not too discreetly, just as she's beginning to get deeper into conversation with a rather dashing and eloquent Elf Rider who's just arrived with the others from the East.

"What?" she demands, a little snappy at being interrupted.

"Check that out."

She sees Murtagh and Nasuada talking animatedly over two goblets of faelnirv, obviously enjoying themselves.

Sofia grins. "Well, what do you know."

"I know," enthuses Edvard. "And it looks like she's totally into him."

"You think he's gonna go for it?"

Edvard frowns. "You know how when we're practicing assault magic, Master never holds back against us so we can learn to defend ourselves properly?"

"Aye?"

He gestures to the pair. "Apparently, this is what he looks like when he's holding back."

She's puzzled. "He would never hurt her."

Edvard shrugs. "Maybe he thinks he might."

 

* * *

 

**_III. Hello my old heart, it's been so long since I've given you away/And every day I add another stone to the walls I built around you, to keep you safe_ **

The next morning, before Nasuada returns to the Capital, Murtagh allows himself to say goodbye this time.

"You should visit Ilirea," she tells him. "There's a place there for the Riders too. We would be glad to have you."

"I'll take it up with Arya," Murtagh promises. "Thank you. I'm sure some of the new Riders would love that opportunity."

"These young ones look up to you. They wouldn't stop pestering you during the party last night."

Murtagh chuckles. "Aye. They're a handful, right?"

"But you'll whip them into shape."

"Arya and I are but guides to them on their journey as Shur'tugal. It's really Eragon who's doing the work, I think."

"Yet your role is no less important." Again she looks at him, like an astronomer studying the stars, a slight smile upon her face. "Remember, at last year's party, when I saw you--"

"You remember that?" Murtagh says softly.

"Of course I remember that," Nasuada says. "You said you weren't ready to join them. Now here you are."

He smiles, "Yes. And I'm glad I did." Because then I wouldn't be standing here with you.

"I'm glad you did, too. Eragon would be proud."

"I hope so."

Nasuada touches his arm gently. "Take care, Murtagh, all right? Don't be a stranger."

He looks her straight in the eyes and promises again, "I won't."

~

_You and Nasuada are becoming close again._

_Yes. That's good, isn't it?_

_Aye._ Thorn pauses in Murtagh's thoughts, _but you don't want to grow any closer._

_I don't know, Thorn. Maybe not now or not ever. We've both got things going on, and we're still changing. You know how young and troubled we were when we first met._

Thorn scoffs, - _My dear Rider, though you may not remain young you will certainly, always be troubled. It's the way we are._ He licks Murtagh's cheek lightly. _But she liked you then, when she had every reason not to. Maybe she could love you now--_

_Thorn, I don't know._ Murtagh says with a mental sigh. _I have nothing to offer her. And every time I look at her I see everything we ever did wrong._

Thorn rolls over on his back in exasperation. _\- You think you'll never be good enough for her, don't you?_

_No,_ says Murtagh, _I know she'll always be too good for me._

~

Nasuada is not a woman who lies. And she didn't, when she told Murtagh that she had never hated him.

But had she forgiven him? Ah, there was the complicated question. The answer was no. Not quite. And it feels wrong to hold that against him when she knows he'd only ever done those things against his will, yet she can't help it.

But she also can't help the small skip in her heartbeat when Murtagh locks eyes with her, when he gives her that small, honest smile, no matter how many feet away from her he stands.

Nasuada decides she needs time.

So does Murtagh.

She needs to be sure. Sure that what she feels is truly what she thinks it could be, sure that he does indeed feel the same way about her, that their connection was not merely one shared in hopelessness and desperation and necessity.

And then, after that, she must make sure that her life will still have room for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from Walking Stick- Roses  
> Part 2 title from Shut Up and Dance with Me- The Vamps  
> Part 3 title from Hello my Old Heart- the Oh Hellos
> 
>  
> 
> Which member of Sofia's squadron is your favorite? Leave a comment :)


	6. Nasuada knows what she wants- word reaches the East- silver brow- 'what would you have me say?' - a voice from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a monstrous long time...the only thing I can say is: well, I'm back.

_**I. Getting good at starting over every time that I return/I think I found my place, can't you feel it growing stronger, little conquerors** _

There is not a single child now who has not seen a dragon, for every day flocks of them streak through the sky and blot out the clouds with their shimmering colors.

At the beginning of harvest time, a phalanx of dragons soars above Palancar Valley.

In the stone walls of her father's mighty hall, six-year-old Ismira Katrinasdaughter looks out a window at the canopy of wings and, young as she is, feels the dim tug of destiny.

~

Now, the mysterious red dragon and his Rider are not so mythical after all. They are very real, and they travel Alagaesia with the Riders, helping where they can. Always present, no longer hiding, a force to be trusted and not feared.

In their wake, Murtagh and Thorn leave more murmurs.

The red Rider, they say, the red Rider is not so bad after all.

~

"The decision has been finalized," Arya says to Murtagh, leaping off Firnen's back as the dragon lands. Thorn greets him eagerly, and the two dragons are soon lost in conversation. Murtagh instead turns his attention toward the elf queen.

She dusts herself off, "Nasuada has approved an outpost to be established in Ilirea. I am sending a squadron of new Riders out there in a week, with eggs too. It will make a wonderful and worthy home for them." She beams, "Thank you for bringing it up with me, by the way."

"It was Nasuada's idea," says Murtagh. "Ilirea was once an elf city, wasn't it? Makes sense for dragons to live back there again."

"And in such a large locale, undoubtedly we will find more Riders than ever." Arya starts to walk back to her quarters, Murtagh at her side. "It's all happening rather fast, isn't it?"

"Rather," Murtagh admits. "Soon there may even be no need to send Riders out east. They can learn everything they can right here, from the older ones. And from us."

Arya grins toothily, "I see you are unwilling to relinquish your role as Ebrithil."

Murtagh spreads his hands with a similar smile, "What can I say? I've grown into it."

"And you were so uneasy at first, too," Arya recalls.

"If you hadn't gone out and dragged me and Thorn into this, I would've been prepared to think we were going to die alone," Murtagh says wryly.

She swats his arm. "I would never have allowed that. Your brother wouldn't stand for it."

"Ah, so you're doing it for Eragon."

"Perhaps I did at first. But since Galbatorix's death, hope has been restored to Alagaesia, and it did not seem fair that such a precious thing shared by everyone was withheld from only you. Not when you deserved it the most." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "And in time, you-- you have also become like my brother, too."

Murtagh smiles at her. It's a real moment for sure.

"Thanks, Arya."

She smiles back, then lifts her chin and is a politician again. "Do Orik or Orrin have any need of you this week?"

"I'm surprisingly clear of duties. Why?"

"Excellent," Arya says crisply, "you can go with the young Riders to Ilirea. Have them meet the right people, make sure they get settled in...say hello to Nasuada, of course."

Murtagh's wondering if there's a spell to keep one's ears from reddening. He's going to need it if she keeps talking like this. "Uh, well, all right."

"Perfect." Arya keeps walking and talking. "You'll find the Capital has drastically changed from its years as Galbatorix's home. It will be a fine place for young Riders to train..."

~

"Coming up on Ilirea now, Hailstorm Squadron," Murtagh calls over the wind, projecting his thoughts as well so the Riders he's leading can hear him. "Prepare for landing."

 _And Kevo, don't forget to indicate landing perimeter with your tail,_ Thorn reminds a yellow dragon as they begin their descent.

_Yes, Ebrithil!_

The dragons dive, past cloud cover and the tops of the tallest buildings of the capital, until they at last land in a clear, empty area designated by rows of magical orb lights. Yet at the edge of the space, a curious crowd has formed.

At the head of the crowd, obviously, stands the Queen, surrounded by attendants and members of her council. She only smiles when Murtagh leaps off Thorn's back, to the clamoring applause of the assembled people.

The young Riders gape, obviously unused to such attention. Murtagh grins at them.

_All eyes on you. Better get used to it._

"Murtagh," Nasuada says graciously, when they approach. "And my new young friends. Welcome, all of you, Riders and dragons alike."

Murtagh bows to her, barely able to hide his own smile. "It is an honor to be here, your majesty."

"It is an honor to have you," she responds. "Your presence at the Capital is much appreciated. Now if you will, please follow me as I show you to your new home."

* * *

 

**_II. It's not that easy with you here, but I know I want you to stay/How do you manage to keep me going, but somehow you keep me from going?_ **

The building they have been offered was previously a standard Empire barracks for Galbatorix's elite soldiers, and Murtagh can vaguely remember seeing it from his youth-- vaguely. Like Arya said, some things are different from the last time he was in the capital. Or perhaps they are different because he's mostly a different person now.

The Riders study it with keen eagerness, making notes and calling out suggestions, while their dragons take to the skies and get a feel for the air under their wings. And crates of eggs are gently unloaded and placed in the safest inner room.

"All right, I'm only here for a couple of weeks to help you get settled in, and after that Thorn and I are gone. And I expect all of you to start behaving," Murtagh says, and although they're all old and canny enough to not need reminding, he can't quite help himself. "This isn't the dragon islands; it's the capital of Alagaesia and you'll be rubbing shoulders with some pretty important people on an almost daily basis."

"Yes, Ebrithil," sighs the youngest of them-- Krella Brynnsdaughter, blonde-haired, seventeen years of age, Dwarf and Rider to a brown dragon-- dutifully.

The squadron leader, Parzu (Urgal, twenty years old and Rider to a turquoise dragon) grins at Murtagh. "If I didn't know any better, Master, I would have taken you for somebody's father."

Murtagh snorts. "Would you, now? Perhaps you young ones are driving me to old age." This makes them laugh. "Ah, why do I bother, I'm sure Eragon has taught you how to function among the upper crust." He pauses. "Then again, he did grow up on a farm, so what would he know?"

More giggles arise at this. "Then perhaps you should give us a few pointers, Ebrithil."

"You know what? Maybe I will." Murtagh replies. "After all, I grew up right here, back when Ilirea was still Uru'baen, revolving around the big shots of the king's court."

"Hey, we didn't know that," says Daven Darrenson, brown-haired, human, fifteen years of age and Rider to a yellow dragon. "What was it like?"

Murtagh grins. And here he was, thinking they were all too old for bedtime stories.

~

It is refreshing for Nasuada to see Murtagh in a much more social setting. As both an authority to the Riders and a vassal to just about every royal in Alagaesia, he's pretty much mediating between the two spheres-- and doing a rather good job of it, she must say. The Riders defer to him. Thankfully, most of her council treats him with respect. And all things considered, he's become more confident and outgoing in this environment.

She makes a mental note to send Arya a fruit basket and flowers (Nasuada being of the opinion that flowers make everything ten times better, regardless of the situation) to thank her for getting Murtagh back into the world.

"How'm I doing?" He mutters to her, all formality gone in a millisecond, after a meeting adjourns.

She smiles reassuringly, "You're doing fine. Relax, Murtagh. Everyone's content, the Riders are up to scratch, and nothing has been blown up...yet."

He makes an amused noise in his throat, "Now that, I would be willing to handle."

She does not fall. Two weeks is far too short a time for that. Instead, she merely feels herself slipping. She first feels it when Murtagh says something during a rather serious council session that unexpectedly makes her laugh.

He catches her gaze from across the room and just about lights up with a look that seems to say hey, you thought that was funny?

It is only later that Nasuada looks at him and thinks _oh, no_.

Oh no, indeed.

~

“I yield,” grins Aryn, black-haired, Elf, twenty years old and Rider to a red dragon, as Parzu beats him in a sparring session. The pair bow to one another to the light applause of their peers.

“Sun’s getting low,” Parzu says, as he sheaths his sword.

“Not too low,” calls out Miriel Donnasdaughter, brown-haired, human, seventeen years of age and rider to a golden dragon. “I think we may have time to hit the town, have some fun. What say you?”

"Ah, now there's a good idea!” exclaims Aryn.

“All right, but we shouldn't be out too late,” Parzu agrees.

They gather, laughing, putting away weapons and discussing where they should go first.

Someone’s watching them from the sidelines. She looks around ten or eleven, but she’s a little younger than that. Her violet eyes follow the group from under locks of dark hair.

Krella, the Dwarf girl, is the first to notice. She looks up.

“Hi there!”

“Hello.”

“Are you lost?” Miriel asks kindly.

“No.” The answer comes with a hint of almost derisive amusement. “I was simply watching you.”

“What’s your name?”

The girl straightens, revealing a shining, star-shaped mark on her forehead. “I am Elva.”

The Riders do a small double take. When they speak to her again, they treat her less like a little girl.

“Elva?” says Aryn. “You’re the Queen’s bodyguard.”

“You were the child Eragon put a spell on.”

“You were there when Galbatorix was defeated.”

She nods smugly each time, “Yes, yes, and yes.”

Parzu bows. “It is an honor to meet you.” The others follow.

Elva offers her own curtesy. “Likewise. I was curious to see for myself what the new Riders were like. I had only ever met Eragon before-- and Galbatorix doesn't count.”

“We’re off to explore the city,” says Miriel. “You wanna come?”

Elva raises her eyebrows. She shrugs, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

**_III. The past is just a bridge we burned down/you can't rely on me, I will always let you down_ **

 

“The youngsters left to see the city.”

“How do you know?”

Murtagh grins at Nasuada. He taps the side of his forehead with two fingers, “Always connected to them, right here.”

“You don't need to worry about them,” she says lightly. “I'm sure they can handle themselves.”

“I know.” Murtagh pauses. “They took your little bodyguard, too.”

“Elva?” says Nasuada, surprised. “And she went with them?”

“Aye. That's all right, isn't it?”

She nods, “Yes, it’s fine. Let Elva be her age for a little while.” She smiles at Murtagh, “And if anything bad were to happen, I have you nearby.”

He returns the smile. “I did not think a Queen so well-loved would be under threat from anyone.”

“No,” Nasuada agrees, “in five years, I have remained completely safe. Certainly different from the days when members of my own council planned to use me as a puppet, or when Galbatorix’s assassins made attempts in my life. In absence of such danger, Elva’s gotten rather bored.”

It makes Murtagh laugh. “Let her spend a couple of hours out on the town with my students, and that will do it for her.”

“You're leaving tomorrow. Why didn't they ask you to join them?”

“Ah, let them be. They definitely wanted the run of the place without supervision.”

He’s surprised by her touch, light and gentle, on his arm. “I trust you enjoyed your time here, at least.”

“I did,” he says quietly. “You've been very gracious to us. To me.”

Nasuada’s voice is soft and low. “Murtagh...if I asked you to stay, would you?"

He almost chuckles, willing to take it as a joke, but the look in Nasuada's eyes tell him that this is anything but a joke. All at once, Murtagh swallows his own smile. "You-- are you?" he manages. "Do you want me to stay? Why?"

She flicks her eyes up to meet his. “You know why.”

The words sink into Murtagh’s heart like stones. He remembers saying them almost a lifetime ago, the two of them standing in the dark in the cells, having only each other for hope and the slightest comfort, and--

First of all, how dare she use his own words against him?

“Yes, I remember,” Nasuada says quietly, before he can respond. “I can never forget it. You meant it then, didn't you?”

It’s a lot of effort for Murtagh to get the words out. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, I mean it now.”

They are not having this conversation. Murtagh shakes his head. "Nasuada, you can't--"

"Can't I?" she responds, her voice a little stronger now.

"This isn't the time to--"

"We're alone in my private gardens. No one can hear us."

"I am your vassal, and you my liege lady!"

"It has happened before."

"Why now, of all times?"

"Because you are here, because you leave tomorrow, and because I wanted to be honest with you."

She does not deter him from coming up with another excuse. "You cannot still want me, not after what I-- what I did."

"I thought we agreed to start over."

"Yes, but it sticks to me, Nasuada. The guilt, the-- the regret-- I look at you and I see all the mistakes and cruel things I did and-- it feels wrong. It just does. I could tell you I was sorry a million times and it would still never be enough."

"Then don't say sorry. Say something else."

"What would you have me say?"

She does not smile, though her eyes shine, yet he notices tears forming in them.

"Let me ask you something," he says. "Before, back when...you know. Did you feel the same way back then?"

"A glimmer of it, perhaps. I wasn't sure at first. I wasn't sure for a long time, but I think I am now." Nasuada looks up at him. "Or rather, I feel that way for the man you've become, rather than the one I used to know. I have not quite forgiven the red Rider who tortured me and killed people for a twisted cause." She pauses. "But I love the Rider who sought redemption and shared wisdom and kindness, and they just happen to be the same person. It is complicated, and yet so simple; both wrong and right at the same time."

She loves him. It's right there. The word stands out among all the rest, and instead of sinking like a stone this time it glows like an ember deep in Murtagh's chest.

"I think we still need time," is all he says.

She nods. "You're right. Things may change, after all, as the seasons do."

He's relieved that she's so pragmatic about it, yet a little regretful that she's willing to let it go so easily. But they do need the time, and they need to be sure, and Murtagh needs to find some certainty that whatever darkness he has left won't bleed into her light.

They stand side by side, not looking at one another.

"I won't be a stranger, that much I still promise," Murtagh says at length.

Nasuada nods again. "And neither will I."

The least the can do is offer her his hand, and she clasps it for a while, a brief moment of comfort and understanding passing between them.

As for the future behind that moment, Murtagh cannot see. But he's willing to find out.

~

Thorn watches his Rider light the candles in his room as dusk falls. All is quiet but for the chirping of crickets in the rough grass, the laughter of the young Riders as they return from their excursion. Each one accounted for. Thorn is about to close his eyes when he hears a voice, faint in the back of his head.

_Dragon. Young dragon._

He lifts his head. Whose voice is that?

_Young dragon. Red dragon. Come find me._

It is a deep, yet female, voice. A dragon's voice. It sounds ancient and cracked and lonely and it is faint, as if reaching out from deep beneath the earth.

 _Where are you?_ Thorn demands.

 _Below_ , echoes the voice. _Below. Below. Below._

~

 _It's coming from in here,_ Thorn says, as Murtagh holds an orb of magic light aloft at the entrance to the catacombs. On the side of the palace they find a heavy, rusted gate leading deep into the building's foundations. Murtagh remembers it vaguely from long ago, never thinking much of it, believing it to be another one of Galbatorix's secrets. Now, however, whatever magic he had sealed over it has faded, and it only takes one word from the red Rider to slide the bolts and open the gate.

Inside is a deep chasm, stretching several feet down. Under the red light of Murtagh's orb they can just barely see items like irons chests and suits of armor. Swords with colored blades.

Murtagh looks at Thorn. _Rider blades._

The voice calls to them, clearer than ever. _Young dragon. Rider. Come here. Come to me._

 _Who speaks?_ says Thorn warily. _We went below, like you said. Reveal yourself._

First, nothing. Silence. Then a dull red glow emanates from one of the chests.

Thorn cannot fit in the opening, so Murtagh leaps in, slowing his fall with magic and landing with a tuck and roll. He lifts the lid of the chest.

Within lies a glowing, enormous, ruby-red Eldunari. A dragon's Heart of Hearts.

Thorn peers over the edge. _No._

 _Yes,_ says the deep voice, and the light around the Eldunari pulses. _Look upon me true, young ones. It is I. Morzan's dragon, first of the Forsworn skulblaka, and bringer of doom to the Riders._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from Walk- Foo Fighters  
> Part 2 title from Helplessly- Tatiana Manaois  
> Part 3 title from Lightning Tent- Wildlife


	7. Heartbreaker- a parting of ways- shadows come back and make everything hell- no, literally- the belly of the whale

**_I. I've been led astray, tried so hard to change/But I'm set on my ways, my words mean nothing again_ **

 

Murtagh takes a step back. His first instinct is to hate it. To despise the Eldunari as he has come to despise everything of his fathers'. But the Eldunari glows dimly, wearily.

_Long ago,_ the voice murmurs, _Morzan hid his most valuable possessions here. Battle trophies. Blades of Riders he murdered. Before he was killed and my body slain, he forced me to disgorge my Eldunari and keep it in this safe...Galbatorix cast spells over it to prevent anyone from finding it, or me from making contact with others...Only now have those magics worn off from this place and I was able to reach you. The king's power has faded and perhaps I have you to thank for that._

_You have nothing to thank us for,_ growls Thorn from above.

_No. Nothing yet,_ says the dead dragon's voice. _I ask only one thing of you._

Murtagh inches closer. _What is that?_

The Eldunari pulses faintly. _All those years... the pain, the bloodshed...toward the end, I could feel my Rider going mad. Your father, boy. I tried to pull him from his own madness, but he was convinced he was doing the right thing. And what could I do?_ The voice sounds almost mourning. _I could not leave him, we were bound to one another._

_You thought you could still save him._

_I was wrong. But all the while I carried the pain he inflicted on others. I still do. I may have done wicked things, but I was no Shruikan. And when we were knee deep in corpses there came upon me a deep regret that has not relinquished me since._ The deep voice shudders, _Now we are dead, but I endure, to relive the darkness over and over. So end it. That's all I ask._

Murtagh pauses. _End it?_

_Take this Eldunari and destroy it. Do not be gentle. If I failed to stop Morzan, then these years of facing my Rider's sins have been punishment enough._

Murtagh looks up at Thorn. The red dragon's eyes are glowing slits, but he nods once. Murtagh moves forward and picks up the Heart of Hearts with both hands, lifting it from its prison.

_Murtagh, I remember you as a child from your father's memories. So young and vulnerable,_ laments the Eldunari, a tendril of thought brushing against Murtagh's consciousness. _But you have grown far past that, boy. You are everything your father could have been, and more. Perhaps Morzan has left some good in this world after all._ She sighs, almost content. _Do it, for I am weary._

The Eldunari is heavy in his hands, far heavier than the dragon eggs he has carried. Murtagh almost cannot do it. But he knows he must.

"Be at peace," he says in the Ancient Language.

He tosses the Eldunari high into the air. He lifts his hand and takes aim.

"Jierda."

~

Out in the cool night air, Murtagh and Thorn leave the secret catacomb. No words are spoken between dragon and Rider, yet reassurance and an odd sense of peace runs through their mutual connection.

They do not tell the young Riders where they've been, although Murtagh assumes they know something has happened. He goes up to his room and shuts the door, remembering how his burst of magic shattered the Eldunari into nothing more than crystal dust. Something about the act carries a sense of finality, as if the last of Morzan's darkness has been chased from the world.

As if both his dragon and his son have been set free.

~

Nasuada notices something different about Murtagh when he comes to stand by her side as they watch the young Riders during their morning training exercises. She glances at him. He stands tall and straight-backed, somehow a weight lifted from his shoulders, and carries a more calm demeanor rather than the tension she has grown so used to seeing.

Murtagh notices her looking. He tries a grin. "What?"

"Nothing," she replies, all too quickly. "You seem...lighter, somehow. Dare I say happier?"

"Really?" says Murtagh quietly.

"Aye. It suits you."

He straightens. She can finally pin down what it is exactly that makes him seem so different now. His grey eyes are no longer those of a dogged, tortured warrior, but of a man finally at peace.

She thinks they are beautiful.

"My queen?" he murmurs. She almost hates him for the tenderness in his tone that warms her heart.

"When do you leave?" Nasuada says at once, lifting her chin.

"Not for another couple of hours. Although I can go earlier, if your Majesty wants to be rid of me as soon as possible?" he chuckles. It brings a smile to her face, to hear Murtagh joking.

"Oh, of course not. I just wanted to be sure you had everything you needed." She looks him in the eyes. "You know, you will always be welcome here. These gates will open for you anytime. Please remember that."

He nods. "I will. Thank you, your Majesty."

 

* * *

 

 

_**II. No-one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed/The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home** _

 

The murmurs about the red Rider find their way onto the ships leaving Alagaesia, and carry into the East.

"We met your half-brother," is one of the first things a young Rider tells Eragon Shadeslayer upon his arrival. "He's awesome."

"A little intimidating," pipes up one.

"Kind, too."

"Sort of quiet."

"And rather handsome."

"He looked out for us. Told us a little of what to expect."

"His dragon taught mine how to hunt while we were on our way to Du Weldenvarden!"

Eragon listens to their admiring clamor and cannot help but smile.

~

The Riders' ranks grow with each month, and Murtagh begins to allow himself to think that everything is going to be okay.

He thinks it too soon.

It is mid afternoon when the scream happens, burning through his brain with an intensity that makes Thorn falter in mid flight as they chauffeur a group of new initiates to Du Weldenvarden. He manages to right himself, slightly scaring the two teenagers they have onboard who sit cradling their dragon hatchlings.

On Thorn's starboard wing, Parzu calls out. "Master! What's wrong?"

It's over as soon as it begins, but Murtagh cannot shake the gibbering snd sobbing and pure pain that washes into his mind. He grits his teeth.

"Bank left!" He calls. "We're making a detour to the Hadarac Desert. Something bad has happened!"

"But we have novices onboard," says Edvard.

"Don't question me!" barks Murtagh. "We go now!"

~

On second thought, he probably should not have brought the novices on this detour. But it can't be helped. The call was urgent and desperate, a group of Riders were in trouble, and dammit, nobody hurts Murtagh's students. Nobody.

He's not sure what they're looking for at first, then they smell the acrid stench of burnt flesh. And then they see it-- three dragons and their Riders standing in a ring of corpses. Murtagh immediately recognizes the group. Squadron Eleven, led by young Tobias, was tasked with ferrying a clutch of eggs to the Rider outpost in Teirm.

Edvard curses in surprise. "I can feel bad black magic here!"

Murtagh jumps off Thorn's back before the dragon can make a full landing.

"Ebrithil!" chokes out Tobias. He cradles the unconscious form of Svenka, a Dwarven girl.

"What happened?" Murtagh's gaze swings to the epicenter of the carnage, where Caelané sits. She is hunched over, sobbing, shaking, her fair face caked with soot.

"Our camp was attacked in the night," says Tobias, "Powerful sorcerers, some Urgals. Caelané took out most of them, but the rest fled. Master--"

Murtagh drops to his knees next to Caelané. He says her name softly-- or he tries. When he puts his hand on her back she collapses into his chest with a sob.

"I killed them all, I didn't know what I was doing," she whimpers.

Murtagh stares, "You did this?"

A strangled sob pushes out of her lungs. "I lost control! I was so afraid, I didn't want them to--"

"Master," urges Tobias, as the others skirt the dead bodies.

"They attacked us, I only meant to drive them away, but they-- they-- I felt it, every life, they ended just like that--"

Caelané's silver dragon gives a low moan of despair and drops his head. Instinctively Murtagh wraps his arms around the elf.

"Shh, it's all right--"

"Master!" Tobias says loudly.

Murtagh looks up. "Tobias, what?"

His face is drawn and pale. "They took the eggs."

~

"I didn't sign up for this shit," Murtagh hears one of the initiates mumble as he holds his red baby dragon against his chest.

Murtagh ignores him. They have already disappointed the excited throng that awaits the new arrivals in Du Weldenvarden with their foreboding, sudden return.

He makes sure to lift Caelané off her dragon's back and set her on her feet. Some of the older Riders take the initiative to take aside the newest ones. But already the whispers are starting; exclamations of horror and surprise.

They stop, however, when Arya appears.

Murtagh has never seen her cry. Not once. But she is crying now-- or looks like she has been. She must have sensed Caelané's despair, the energy she released to stop their attackers from taking the eggs.

She sniffs, attempting to look strong. "You felt it?" Murtagh nods.

"You brought the initiates and their hatchlings with you," Arya says.

He bites his lip. "There wasn't time to drop them off. I was worried--"

She shakes her head. "You did the right thing." She bustles off to comfort Caelané.

_\- Did we?_ Says Thorn, miserably, as only Murtagh can hear.

* * *

 

_**III. Here we are, don't turn away now/ We are the warriors that built this town from dust** _

 

"Injured, shocked, but luckily they returned home safely." Arya takes a shuddering breath. "Caelané is shaken, to put it lightly. She won't stop crying. I...convinced her to rest. Put her to sleep using magic. I fear it will be weeks before she recovers."

Murtagh sags against a wall, feeling the weight of what has happened press down on them.

"None of the squadrons on egg ferry duty will continue their missions. In fact, I think it would be wise if you told the others still out there to abort their journey and come back home. Someone is out to get the dragon eggs and we may be in danger." He looks at her. "I spoke with Tobias again. From his description, they weren't against just any magic users, otherwise they wouldn't have gotten away. They were ambushed by Shades."

Something like horror flashes in Arya's eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely certain. If you'd been there, felt what we felt in the air..." Murtagh shudders.

"And they-- they wanted the eggs? Whatever for?"

"Galbatorix is no more," Murtagh says slowly, as if figuring it out as he speaks. "Still, he's left a power vacuum when it comes to magic. They could be trying to take control of that vacuum. Riders have been traveling across Alagaesia for three years now; who's to say those Shades haven't been studying our moves?"

Arya's voice is soft and vulnerable. "What went wrong? Did the routes become too predictable? Did we not reinforce Eragon's training as well as we should have? Were they still too young for such a task?"

"You did the best you could, Arya. I've been too complacent as well."

The elf-Queen shakes her head, "I have failed the Riders, Murtagh. I failed to keep them safe. And now I dread to think what will happen to the stolen eggs." She shuts her eyes in pain, "I have failed Eragon-- he trusted me--"

"Trusted us," says Murtagh. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "This is not only your burden. This is something we could have never expected." He locks eyes with her. "Look at me, Arya. This isn't the end. We will find who did this. Come on, I thought you were a Shadeslayer."

A bright green fire leaps into her eyes at this, in spite of the tears.

"Aye," she says softly, "that I am."

~

"The Ilirea Riders can't leave?" Elva asks Nasuada. "What's wrong? What did I miss and why did I miss it?"

Nasuada pauses, caught by the tone in the girl's voice. "They received word from Arya," she explains anyway. "A group of Riders were ambushed in the Desert by Shades. Eggs were stolen." She does not spare the details; Elva has already seen terrible things at a younger age. Tragedy should not surprise her, but it makes her pace the room immediately.

"Well they were too far away for me to predict the attack," she mutters. "So far I have felt no harm approaching the Riders stationed here." She stops. "So that's good. Make sure they stay here. At least within the capital I will know if anything bad is about to happen."

"You're worried," says Nasuada, watching Elva look out the window. Her movements are antsy. "You don't feel any misfortune coming to them if they remain in Ilirea, but you're still worried."

Elva shrugs and says, resignedly, "They're my friends."

~

The order goes out at once. Effective immediately, all egg tours are to be suspended indefinitely. Every group of Riders still in transit is ordered to return back to their base in Du Weldenvarden. Each Rider outpost is ordered to be on its guard, defending the city they are in. Even if most return accounted for, there are still losses. In the next two weeks three more groups are attacked, ten more eggs captured, several more Riders injured or in shock. Four of them die.

Arya doesn't sit down the whole time-- she rushes back and forth ensuring the safety of both her people and the Riders. Now she has strategies to consider, students to lock down, funerals to arrange, other leaders to beg aid from.

Of course, Murtagh has other ideas.

He slips out of the hall as Arya wrangles the questions and suggestions coming at her and he and his dragon prepare to do what they do best-- fight.

But they don't go alone.

Sofia Merasdaughter falls into step beside Murtagh, flanked by the members of her squadron. "Where are you going?"

"To look for the monsters who did this."

She nods. "We're coming with."

Murtagh stops, and so does everyone else. "No, you can't. It's too--"

"Dangerous?" says Koura. "Then what have you been training us for?"

They stare at him, steely-eyed. They have Eragon's stubborn loyalty, Arya's sharp determination, and a fire in their bellies that Murtagh cannot help but recognize as akin to his own. And he knows it is no use still protecting them. What, indeed, would have been the point of training them all this time?

They're ready. All of them are.

He nods, at last. "Fine. Let's go hunt Shade."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. I got a few tricks up my sleeve ;)
> 
> Part 1 title from Good Intentions- Chainsmokers  
> Part 2 title from Glory and Gore- Lorde  
> Part 3 title from Warriors- Imagine Dragons


	8. Precautions and predictions- Koura goes undercover- throwing Shade- a terrifying revelation- this is war

_**I. I'm the hero of this story/don't need to be saved** _

_You can't leave. Not now! At a time like this!_

Firnen's thoughts burn into Thorn's brain all at once, even as he stands poised at the edge of the forest to leave.

_Firnen, please--_

_You don't know what's out there,_ argues the green dragon. _Would you bring the young ones into a death trap?_

 _Murtagh and I will protect them. They are no longer as young as we think them to be, Firnen. We need to take this chance to know the enemy or we'll never have an edge._ He lashes his tail against the ground as he sees Murtagh and the others arrive. The younger dragons land next to him, scattering dirt and pebbles. _We'll be back, I promise._

 _Maybe you don't understand,_ Firnen presses. _You're not alone anymore, Thorn. Think of what would happen if we lost you. What would Sofia's squadron do? What would Arya do? What would I do without you?_

Thorn is not prepared for the vulnerability he hears in the other dragon's voice, from where he sits miles on the other side of Ellesmera. He pushes the feeling away.

 _You're gonna have to trust me on this one, Firnen,_ Thorn says with finality. _Goodbye._

~

Murtagh had dealings with Urgals before, as Galbatorix's right hand man. Back then he merely thought of them as brutish tools to order about, but before their race were included as Riders, he never thought of understanding them as...people. Knowing Koura, Parzu and others changed that. And having Koura on Sofia's squadron had an unexpected benefit.

"If you are looking for Urgals that would willingly work with those monsters, we know of a few rogue clans at the edges of the Spine." Herndall Maragra says. She is a powerfully built Urgal clan leader with a veil made of black seed beads. Her horns curl thickly behind her ears in a similar pattern to Koura's. No surprises there; she is her mother. "They do not commune with us, or join our annual games or honor any of our peace treaties."

"Some clan leaders prefer the power they had when Galbatorix ruled," a Kull adds. "Though they were his servants, they could destroy and kill as they pleased. These isolated clans are more prone to manipulation by Shades."

"So we can find them in the Spine?" says Koura, back straight as she faces the superiors of her home clan through the flames of an Urgal campfire. Behind her the Riders and their dragons sit in a cluster.

"Aye. But if you must do this, daughter, be on your guard." Herndall Maragra's eyes show a gleam of worry in the firelight. "These clans are still fierce and proud, and may be more than a match for you and your friends."

"Oh, don't worry, mother." Koura glances back at her squadron with a knowing grin. "We do not intend to meet them in outright battle. We just need a little information, that's all..."

~

"Are you sure about this?" Murtagh asks later.

Koura nods. "I'll sneak into their camp by night. I'll put up wards that will prevent them from noticing I don't belong, and keep an eye and an ear out for dealings with Shades. It shouldn't take me long. If I run into any trouble, I'll call."

Her dragon Sakor tosses his head back. _I don't want you doing this alone, Koura._

"But I must, if we are to keep this ruse up." She touches his neck. "Besides, I'm not alone. I am with you-- always, remember?"

Murtagh puts a hand on her shoulder. "You got this."

Koura nods. "Thank you, Ebrithil."

 

* * *

 

**_II. Goddamn right, you should be scared of me/who is in control?_ **

 

Sakor's mental connection to Koura allows him to project her experiences in real-time to the other Riders, who have made camp on the other side of the Spine. They watch her sneak around the Urgal clan camp, protected by her own clever wards. She waits around the edges of the community for a whole day before a cloaked figure arrives. Through her eyes they all watch the figure greet the clan's Nar before having a discussion in the chief's tent with his closest advisors.

Afterward, the figure leaves. Koura catches a glimpse of red hair, crimson eyes.

_Shade._

"Confirmed," murmurs Bronür. "Herndall Maragra's information paid out."

"Sakor, tell Koura to follow him," says Murtagh.

_She's way ahead of you, Ebrithil._

~

Physically, the average human is no match for a Shade. Magically, the average Urgal spell caster is no match for a Shade either.

But, it turns out, both physically and magically, one arrogant, complacent Shade is no match for one riled-up Urgal Rider.

Koura arrives at the Riders' camp, dragging the Shade behind her. He's bound and gagged by magic, and would be a comical sight if he didn't look so murderous. Immediately the squadron rises and approaches the Shade. Sakor bounds over to his Rider, nuzzling her in relief.

"Shur'tugal, this is Narrim," Koura announces calmly as she pats Sakor. "Narrim, these are my friends. We'd like a word."

Instantly Murtagh marches up to the Shade, grabbing him by the scalp and tilting his head back. He releases the magical gag Koura has placed on him.

"-- arrogant, misguided fools," Narrim spits almost at once. "Taking over the world as if you have the right. You are false idols, all of you!" He chokes on his words when Murtagh lowers the tip of his sword to his chest.

"What do you want with dragon eggs, Shade?" he growls. "Where are the rest of your kind?"

"Your intimidation tactics are adorable," Narrim croons now. "If you think I'll buckle under the pressure of five children with overgrown lizards and Galbatorix's former personal bitch, you're far more foolish than I imagined."

The air grows tense. The dragons begin to bristle, and Thorn growls.

"How many are there of you?" Murtagh says quietly.

"None of your concern, murderer," says Narrim, rolling his eyes. "But know this. You think the Riders are the most powerful beings in Alagaesia now that Galbatorix is gone? You're wrong. There are people still around here who thrived during the King's time, and we want that power back. Mark my words, Rider. The Shades shall have their long-denied sovereignty."

"What are you planning?" demands Dalan. Narrim only arches his grey neck and laughs maniacally.

Murtagh sighs. He didn't want to have to do this, but...

"I'm going to need your strength," he tells the others, and extends his free hand.

Sofia takes it without question. Edvard takes her hand. Bronür takes his. Then Dalan and Koura complete the chain.

Murtagh turns his attention back to Narrim. Their strength, and that of their dragons, flows through him.

Then it flows into Narrim's mind, and he regrets ever coming to deal with Urgals alone.

The Shade screams and writhes and wails as Murtagh probes through his consciousness, ruthless and relentless as a rising tide. He extracts everything, pushing a little bit farther every time there seems to be a limit, and honestly? He kind of likes the pain it brings Narrim. This, he thinks, is for the stolen eggs, for Caelane's broken spirit, for the Riders killed in action. A well of hatred Murtagh had even forgot was in him overflows, his rage lending itself to the strength he pushes into Narrim's mind. It nearly breaks the Shade.

Nearly.

Sofia's grip around Murtagh's hand tightens. _Master. That's enough._

She isn't trying to hurt him. She's trying not to lose him.

Murtagh ends the probe abruptly, jarring himself back into the present, and Narrim keels over and starts whimpering. Murtagh stumbles, but Sofia and Edvard are there to steady him.

He looks up into Sofia's young green eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to have to see this."

Murtagh pushes her away from him and draws his sword, and runs Narrim through the heart in a swift motion.

Everything is a blur at first-- the shrill screaming of the evil spirits as they escape Narrim's mouth, the rush of energy that is released from the Shades' body-- but then it ends as soon as it begins, and them there is nothing but silence in the Spine.

~

The young Riders are shaken, and Murtagh has to force himself into composure. He swallows several times before straightening.

"There was nothing for it," he says. "Narrim was too dangerous to leave alive. You saw what was in his head--

"Ebrithil," says Edvard, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "It's all right. You did what you had to do."

Narrim's corpse lies in front of them, blackened and smoking and exposed where Murtagh's blade has impaled him, where his mouth has been stretched open by the dark spirits leaving his body. Murtagh sheaths his sword.

"We burn the body," he says, "then we move out."

* * *

 

 

**_III. Oh, I know it's not the right time tonight/but I won't move until this stops, go back to the top_ **

 

"We are at war."

They are words Arya Dröttning never wanted to say, words she never thought she'd say after Galbatorix's defeat. She feels as if she's letting them down, the new Riders and dragons with their fearless hearts and eager will. She promised them, promised Eragon, a realm of peace and purpose and glory and now--

Well. They're at war.

This time it is Murtagh who speaks. "Squadron Five and I gathered Intel on the Rogue Urgal clans that agreed to serve the Shades. We captured one and probed his mind." No need to get into the specifics. "What was revealed to us was...disturbing. The Shades have banded together, creating more of their kind from willing dark sorcerers. They have been gathering their strength in the past year. The eggs they took have been manipulated into hatching for them, twisted into entirely new monsters by the Shades' power. They're almost fully grown in a matter of two weeks." He pauses. "We're dealing with a threat that Alagaesia has never been under before. Rider Shades."

The clamor and din that rises up from the assembly is deafening-- not just in words, but in thoughts as well.

"Eragon was right!" shouts someone in the crowd. "Alagaesia isn't safe enough to raise dragons-- it still isn't!"

"What else do we know of these monsters?" snarls another Urgal Rider, her blue dragon snapping his jaws. "Where do they hide? We must find them and finish them!"

"We need to get the youngsters off Alagaesia and back to Eragon. They'll be safer there!"

"Indeed," Arya says above the noise, "that is what we will do. I seek volunteers to act as guards back to the East to bring the initiates and their hatchlings across safely."

"With all due respect, Arya Dröttning, I thought you said such hatchlings were too young to travel," Tobias points out.

"We haven't got a choice. At this point, protecting the eggs and the young is our top priority," says Murtagh. "The Shades intend to use them to subjugate Alagaesia by destroying our cities and overrunning the order of Dragon Riders. They are eager to fill the gap in power left by Galbatorix. Shades have never been in complete control of the world, and now they see their chance. We all know-- power for power's sake is what drives a Shade." Murtagh pauses. "They've been hiding in Helgrind this whole time. If we want to strike them at their core, that's where we'll do it." He looks over the crowd, the gallant throng of a new generation of Riders. In a heartbeat he knows he would do anything to protect every last one of them.

He knows they would do the same for each other.

"All this," Murtagh says, gesturing to the crowd, "was once lost. I...I know the story better than anyone. More than a hundred years ago the dragon Riders were torn apart from within and they didn't stand a chance. But even that isn't entirely true, because you are here before me and you are, all of you in your heart of hearts, free Riders and dragons. Now an external force threatens us. And we can't. Let. Them. Succeed." He says the last few words both mentally and verbally, projecting his thoughts. "If this is war, then we will fight it."

~

"This Shade you probed...you killed him, didn't you?"

Murtagh looks up, meeting Arya's eyes. "Aye. Of course I did."

She makes a sound halfway between an amused chuckle and a relieved exhalation. "Of course you did."

"He would have killed us, or tried to kill us. His kind have killed some of ours. Besides...after the force we exposed his mind to, I thought it would have been kinder to end his suffering."

Arya frowns now. "Don't tell me you tortured him. Murtagh, don't tell me you used Galbatorix's methods to get information--"

"No," said Murtagh quietly. "It was an ordinary probe, only five times the force of that. I almost did, though," he adds, a hasty confession. "The other Riders were linked to me, our combined strength overwhelmed the Shade completely. I could have drawn it out and made him suffer more than he had to. I wanted to hurt him."

"You would have used their power to break his mind?" Arya says. "You have any idea what that would have done to them?"

Murtagh shakes his head. "It's only because we were linked that I was able to stop before it became too much. I went too far into my own darkness, but they pulled me away from the edge."

There is silence. Only Murtagh is clad in battle gear. Arya, in the meantime, would help take the newest dragons and Riders to the harbor, and join the battle as soon as she could. Murtagh begins to pace in the chamber. At last he says, "Perhaps there's more of my father in me than I know." And nothing, he thinks, is going to take that away. Not an official pardon. Not teaching new Riders. Not being blessed by the Caretakers or reclaiming Orthiad for the Dwarves or destroying Morzan's dragon's tortured Eldunari.

Arya rises. In her eyes he sees the green fire that brought them this far and is prepared to carry them even further. "And perhaps there is much of you in your students. If they pulled you from the edge...then it would be unwise to go into battle without them." She nods toward the entryway beyond Murtagh, and he turns.

He sees Squadron Five, in full battle armor, swords sharp and backs straight. They stand together, waiting for him. With him till the very end.

Murtagh's heart swells. "Riders."

"Ebrithil," says Dalan. He extends a hand. "You ready?"

"Of course," says Murtagh, clearing his throat. "Someone has to keep an eye on you kids."

"And these kids are here to keep an eye on you," says Edvard. "Now, let's really hunt some Shade...Shadeslayer."

The Riders grin at Murtagh, fierce and determined. Arya comes up from behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"From one Shadeslayer to another," she says gravely, "good luck."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 title from Hero- Regina Spektor  
> Part 2 title from Control- Halsey  
> Part 3 title from To the Top- Twin Shadow
> 
> Just before the action picks up, I'm gonna have to warn you guys that the ends chapter will take a bit longer to follow up. But we're almost at the end, so stay with me!


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